


Through a Glass, Darkly

by cinelitchick



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Horror, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Violence, Cameos, Demonic Possession, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exorcisms, F/F, Fights, Gay Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-06-14 19:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 101,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15395673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinelitchick/pseuds/cinelitchick
Summary: Father Marcus Keane is having a crisis of confidence. His world has gone sideways within the past year and he's simply trying to stay upright. Emotionally, he's at his lowest point in years; even if he seems fine to the untrained eye.Enter Dr. Tomas Ortega. The psychiatrist has been brought in by Father Devon Bennett to put Marcus back on track. Tomas takes an immediate interest in Marcus. The feeling is not mutual — at least not initially.As certain truths come to light, the two men find themselves dealing with a darkness greater than themselves ...... and an undeniable attraction to each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is The Exorcist in a Hannibal marinade. It's set in an alternate universe where Tomas is Hannibal, Marcus is Will, Bennett is Jack, Mouse is Alana/Bev and Rose is Freddie Lounds — at least in spirit. Homages to both series are contained within. 
> 
> I want to thank my squad for their love and support throughout this long endeavor: arae, cutiesonthehorizon, and Liz and Jaime. You guys kept me going over the past few months. You are amazing. Thank you. 
> 
> Bon appétit!

#  **PART I: ADAPT**

   

 

The mother had not made it out alive.

She lay in a pool of blood just inside the front door, her arm reaching out so her hand fell just outside the threshold. Her eyes were open wide, fear gripping her as she died. Her red hair framed her contorted features. She was at peace now or so the priest had hoped. There was nothing else he could do now.

He walked through the house, wondering where were the children. One girl and three boys also lived there. He saw no sign of them as he made his way down the hall towards the kitchen, where he could hear shouting. He recognized the words as well as the voice which spoke the words. Those words he knew forwards and backwards, even though he had minimal field experience with the ritual itself.

The scene he came upon was not good. One man was holding a young woman in front of him as a shield, a knife in his other hand. The other person who stood opposite them had his hands up and was passionately delivering platitudes.

“You are _forgiven_. ... You are _redeemed_. ... You are _loved_.” There were more words between the statements, but the priest viewing the scene wasn’t really paying attention. His focus was on the man with the knife at the girl’s throat. The daughter. She was sobbing, terror etched on her features. The priest wondered if she knew her mother was dead. He figured she probably did.

He saw the father twitch. _Good. It’s working_ , the priest thought. His colleague saw it, too; aware he was close to exorcising this demon and saving this man’s soul.

Then it happened. It was so quick and smooth the priest and the exorcist almost missed it. For a split second, the man had regained control only to lose it again. What they decidedly didn’t miss was the blood that spewed forth. The arterial spray showered the kitchen and the exorcist. The priest only was hit partially as he ran into the space after the splatter came past where he would have been had he only entered a second before. The girl fell to her knees and face down on the floor after the man let her go, choking just briefly on her own blood.

The father took a couple steps forward, looking at the two men after watching his daughter fall to the floor. He turned his attention to the exorcist. “Do it.”

The exorcist hesitated for a moment, then reached back to grab the nine-millimeter pistol out from the waist of his pants, released the safety and pulled the trigger. The father also landed on his back. The positioning of their bodies made the two appear to be forming a circle. _There’s a lovely symmetry to it_ , the exorcist thought.

He watched as the priest tried to save the girl, the gesture futile. “She’s gone, Bennett,” he said.

Father Devon Bennett looked at the exorcist with sadness and anger. “What the bloody hell happened here, Marcus?”

Father Marcus Keane gazed down at his friend, who was still crouched beside the girl. She was no more than sixteen years old. “Someone tipped him off. It all went sideways before I even stepped foot through the front door.”

 

 

**SIX WEEKS LATER**

 

Marcus was back on the campus of St. Elizabeth’s College for the first time since the exorcism that went awry. An untenured professor who taught religious iconography in literature, he had felt at home there from the very first day. It was eight months ago when he had accepted the teaching position after he no longer was able to continue his day-to-day duties as a priest. He preferred not to think of what had brought him to this gorgeous campus with its tall, leafy trees and green grass. It was all part of God’s plan.

He originally had considered becoming a teacher years ago, got the degrees and everything, but then he had heard the call and joined the seminary instead. He never regretted his decision. However, teaching was a passion within him that apparently even God couldn’t ignore. So here he was in the world of academia at a well-regarded Catholic college in Virginia about forty minutes from his home in Wolf Trap.

It was good to be back.

He walked to his classroom thinking about his schedule for the day. He had three classes where he would normally have four, but the fourth class had been cancelled for the spring semester when not enough students enrolled. Marcus thought that was bollocks. He would have happily taught a small class of four to six students if it meant they were interested. The school’s policy was no fewer than ten students, so he lost the class. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He had just returned from sabbatical for killing a man in cold blood. Even if no one else — the Church, the police, Bennett — thought so.

“ _Do it._ ”

He could still hear Andrew Kim’s last words and see the indubitable look of a man in control of his mind and body. Andrew Kim, who had been possessed by a demon that had killed his wife, Nikki, and his eldest daughter, Verity. The three boys, Truck, Shelby and Caleb, had run next door to the Holmstrom's, who had called the police. By the time the cops had showed up, it was over. Andrew Kim was dead by Marcus’ own hand. Marcus could still see him and his daughter on the floor; their bodies creating a makeshift circle as they had laid head to foot, their fingers almost touching as their arms rested in the center.

Yin yang.

It was a bit too on the nose for Marcus’ taste. A chill ran through him as the image faded in his mind.

He could still hear the bullet escaping from the chamber, exiting the barrel and hitting Andrew Kim square in the chest. He could still see Bennett crouched beside Verity desperately trying to stop the bleeding, despite it being too late. The entire chamber of horrors would haunt his dreams for the rest of his days.

Sleep was but a cruel joke now. He had woken up soaked to the bone each night since; the night terrors taking up residence in his brain. He had been powering up on caffeinated beverages hot and cold to keep him going throughout the day. It wasn’t the best idea and definitely didn’t help his sleep patterns.

 As it turned out, an over-caffeinated brain fueled the demons in his head which, in turn, aided his night terrors. It was a vicious circle that had no end as far as Marcus could see. The snake eating its own tail.

His mobile buzzed. Bennett had sent a text: “I NEED TO MEET WITH YOU LATER TODAY. CAN YOU STOP BY AFTER YOUR LAST CLASS?” Marcus didn’t want to think about Andrew Kim anymore let alone talk about him, but he owed Bennett. He replied: “SURE. I'LL TEXT YOU WHEN I'M ON MY WAY.”

 _And the day had started off so well_ , he thought as he chugged his third coffee of the morning, this one an iced caramel macchiato, as he picked up his pace in order to be on time for his nine o’clock class.

 

 

 

Marcus spent his downtime between classes going over what had worked and what hadn’t during his lecture. Surprisingly to him, a fair amount of it worked. The students were engaged. Dare he say interested? Perish the thought. He usually considered his class a work in progress for the first week. He obsessively fine-tuned his presentation till at least ninety-five percent of it held his pupils’ attention. Not everything was going to enthrall them. He could except that. Nobody’s perfect, after all.

When he wasn’t trying to be John Keating, his attention was easily pulled to the one thing other than caffeine that had kept him going for the past few weeks while he was on leave. He opened another tab on his laptop while he sat in the empty lecture hall and went to the one place he really should not.

He typed in the web address for the Bloodhound news blog into his browser. Up it came with the crime scene du jour on its homepage. The sixth body in two months had been found at a home in Virginia Beach.

This time a man, who had been acting strangely of late, according to family, friends and neighbors. He had been found bound to his bed, a bullet in his skull. Marcus continued to scroll down, scanning the headlines as he went.

Another story had a Notary Public out of Washington, D.C., killed in a parking garage. Her body found on display in the lobby of a prestigious law firm with her eyes removed and an eighty-page contract attached to her skin like a top. Also of note: The woman’s kidneys and lungs had been removed.

Marcus sighed and kept scrolling until he reached the bottom of the page. Nothing. It had been a week since the last story about Andrew Kim had been posted.

That story basically regurgitated what the other stories had said about the case. How Andrew Kim had snapped killing his wife and daughter in some twisted purification ritual. His sons had escaped his wrath simply because they were male.

It made Marcus sick.

 _Those boys escaped because their mother sacrificed herself so they would be safe_ , he thought at the time. _It was a bloody miracle they got out alive._

There also were pictures and video of him and Bennett exiting the Kim home. The reporter had a telephoto lens and an eye for the macabre. The more sensational the better.

Rose Cooper, the owner/publisher/editor/photojournalist of Bloodhound, considered herself a Renaissance woman. Lois Lane with an iPhone, a nose for news and a taste for blood.

The higher the fall from grace or the gorier the intimate details, the higher the views.

She had done her due diligence and reported, in depth, how Marcus went from being the popular priest of his parish to the popular professor of the English department at a small but respectable Catholic college. It was all there. She even managed to get a photo of the poor woman who had died.

 _Jesus Christ, she’s a piece of work,_ he had thought of Rose Cooper as he had gone through all seventeen stories and its accompanying multimedia related to the Kim family and himself.

Now he shut the lid on his laptop, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to check that damn website at least three or four times a day. Now he was working again, he had hoped his time would be better spent. For the most part it was. This was only the first time today he had looked at the site and it was past one in the afternoon. He had his final class of the day at two, then he had to meet Bennett.

_This is good. This is healthy. Now I just need to stop looking at the site altogether and I’ll be cured._

He sighed.

He knew he was doomed.

 

 

 

As the students from his two o’clock class exited the room, someone entered.

Marcus smiled when he saw her.

“My little church mouse come to welcome back the exiled exorcist?”

Amelia Katz cringed. She hated when Marcus called her that. It was a stupid nickname that had stuck over the years. He always called her “Mouse.” He only used Amelia when he was being serious. Even in anger, he used that insipid moniker. She knew him through his old church stomping grounds.

Her family had been attending Saint Peter’s since she was a kid. Not long after Marcus had arrived at the parish roughly twenty years ago had he been welcomed into the fold and considered a friend of the family. He had been called on to pray for her when she had taken ill. Marcus had visited every day for two months and once she had taken a turn for the better, until she had recovered. The Katz family firmly believed Marcus’ prayers had saved the girl.

Amelia’s father was a lapsed Jew, who had converted to Catholicism much to the anger of his kin. He was banished by his parents and never again spoke to another member of his family. It had hurt her father to be exiled, but he was grateful for the family he did have and he felt lucky.

When Marcus had heard this story, Mr. Katz had mentioned how Amelia would faithfully attend church services with him. “She’s my little church mouse,” he had said. Oh how she wished her father had never said that to him. She loved her father dearly, but that moment she would never live down.

“Of course!” She said now with a smile. “How was your first day? You look … composed.” She paid close attention to his face. “Your pupils aren’t dilated and your eyes aren’t bloodshot.” A glance at his hands. “No shaking.”

Mouse was a licensed psychiatrist with the medical degrees to prove it. She had been hired as a consultant with the local diocese to evaluate anyone — parishioner, priest and in between — who either needed or required it. Her day job was as a psychiatry professor at Georgetown University in D.C.

“That’s right, Dr. Mouse. No meltdowns today. No chairs thrown. No students were harmed in the course of my lecture.” He paused. “Though, in all fairness, I _did_ contemplate opening that window there and tossing the bird’s nest located in the tree right outside as _far_ as it would go.”

She looked from Marcus to one of the windows on her left where he had pointed and back. “You didn’t.”

He smiled. “I did not. I merely talked louder. My class appreciated the humor.” He started packing up his desk, shoving his laptop and other essentials into his black leather messenger bag. “Were they always that loud?”

“I … have no idea. I think you’d remember if they had been.” She watched him as he gathered the rest of his belongings. “Are you in a hurry?”

He chuckled. “No, but I promised Bennett I would stop by after class. I reason the sooner I get there, the sooner I’m free.”

Mouse smiled. She liked seeing him in such good spirits. However, Bennett’s name slightly soured her mood. “Devon Bennett never asks for something unless he expects a particular response. Be careful there, Marcus.”

He came around his desk to meet her as he donned his beaten black leather jacket. He considered her words and the concerned look on her face. It was good advice. “Still have my back in spite of everything?”

This time, the smile was more rueful. “You know I do.”

 

 

 

Marcus arrived at St. Peter’s Church a half-hour later. The green pickup he parked in the lot next to the church had seen better days, but she ran great so he really had no complaints. He didn’t require a pretentious electric car you had to plug in after so many miles or a fancy SUV with room enough to shepherd a flock of sheep or a herd of dogs from Point A to Point B. Besides, when it came to pets, he was more of a cat person anyway.

As he exited the truck, he couldn’t help but look at his old parish. He had been back many times before now, but for some reason his being here resonated more with him today. The stone walls seemed more imposing. The cross on top of the steeple had a sinister air about it that unnerved him. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm his mind. A sense of unease had washed over him. He needed to be centered before he met with Bennett.

After a minute, he entered the church through a side door using a key card Bennett had issued him so Marcus could come and go as he pleased. Marcus was still in good standing here despite his ignominious departure. He made his way downstairs to where the offices were located. He found himself in front of Bennett’s office door before he knew it.

Devon Bennett worked out of Vatican City. His official title was prefect of papal outreach and security. However, he had requested and was granted a temporary relocation to St. Peter’s after the failed exorcism of Andrew Kim.

This had resulted in Marcus being under his jurisdiction. As an exorcist, Father Keane could be viewed as one who could free the pope from demonic possession. Bennett knew it was a stretch, but he appreciated the effort made by His Holiness.

Exorcists were not well regarded by some within the Church. It was a black mark that would never go away and had prevented Marcus from rising higher than his current station. Not that he gave a toss. He preferred to help his parishioners in whatever way he could; being able to cast out demons was a gift he cherished, though at times he did feel the weight of it bearing down on him.

Marcus knocked on the door. To his surprise, Bennett opened the door instead of just telling him to “come in” as he normally did.

“We were just talking about you,” Bennett said as he moved aside to let Marcus enter.

Marcus looked at him quizzically. “‘We?’”

In his peripheral vision, Marcus saw someone stand up from one of the chairs in front of Bennett’s desk. He turned his head to get a better look at the person who was making his way towards him. The man was well-dressed; he wore oxfords, pressed trousers, a button-up shirt with the first couple of buttons undone under a V-neck sweater and a blazer.

Marcus felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.

He should have felt underdressed in comparison, but he didn’t. He felt even more confident in black jeans, a white dress shirt and his black leather jacket. The man before him had jet black hair, a trim beard and hazel eyes. Marcus knew he looked more uncouth by comparison and resisted the urge to run a hand over his close-cropped, dark blonde hair.

There was something about the way this bloke looked at him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was getting a peculiar feeling deep inside. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

“Marcus, this is Dr. Tomas Ortega,” Bennett said, making the requisite introductions. “Dr. Ortega, Father Marcus Keane.”

“A pleasure,” Dr. Ortega said as he extended a hand to Marcus.

Marcus accepted his hand. “What brings you to St. Peter’s?”

“You.” His smile had a bit of mirth to it that annoyed Marcus.

“What the hell, Bennett?” He dropped Dr. Ortega’s hand and glared at his fellow man of the cloth as Bennett took his seat behind the desk.

He indicated for the two men to sit down. “Please. Hear me out, Marcus.”

Marcus did not want to hear Bennett out. He fumed silently as he considered storming out and slamming the door behind him. He felt Dr. Ortega watching him. He slid his eyes over to meet his. The doctor observed him with a keen interest. Marcus had no idea what he found so utterly fascinating nor did he care to find out. Yet something made him take a seat across from Bennett. Dr. Ortega followed suit.

“I thought it was a good idea for you to have someone to talk to,” Bennett said. “Someone who could help guide you back out of the wilderness. It’s no secret you have had a rough go of it over the past few months. Perhaps maybe a safe space with an impartial voice of reason will be good for you.”

Marcus snickered. “I own private priest? How much is he costing you?”

“I’m doing this pro bono,” Dr. Ortega told him. “You intrigue me.”

“Fascinating,” he said sarcastically, barely giving the other man a glance. He glared at Bennett and told him: “I’m not doing this.”

“Father Bennett tells me you returned to teaching today at the college. How did that go?” the doctor asked as Marcus started to leave the chair.

“It was swell. Birds sang,” he replied, sitting back down. He again looked at Bennett. “What’s going on? Why is he really here?” Thoughts of excommunication ran through his mind.

“I would prefer you direct any comments or inquiries to me, Marcus,” Dr. Ortega told him.

Now he had Marcus’ full attention. “What about _me_ brings a man of your obvious stature to a basement office in a church in Virginia, _Doctor_ Ortega?”

The doctor was enjoying this interaction. His eyes were bright as he spoke. “Father Bennett got in touch with me shortly after the unfortunate incident with Andrew Kim and his family. I was unfortunately unable until now to meet with you both. However, under the circumstances, perhaps it was fortuitous after all.” He glanced at Bennett before bring his gaze back to Marcus. “So you had a good first day back?”

And with that, Marcus understood exactly what was going on. He shook his head, a smile on his face that barely concealed his rage. “ _Don’t_ …. Don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.”

Dr. Ortega tilted his head a bit, his smile growing. “I am not trying to psychoanalyze you, Marcus. I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable. I merely want to get to know you better. After all, we have more in common than you realize.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes. The anger receded a bit as his curiosity was whetted. “Is that so? Tell me. What do we have in common aside from the fact we both know Bennett here and we both have accents?” His own northern English inflection becoming stronger as he barely kept a lid on his conflicting emotions.

“Once upon a time, I was a Catholic priest in Mexico City. During that time, I also was one of the elite few who banished demons back to Hell.

“I was an exorcist.

“Just like you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Marcus awoke with a start into the pitch black of his surroundings. Sweat soaked him to the skin, making his tank top cling to his torso and his shorts to his legs with a grip that made him feel suffocated. He lay in bed and tried to calm down. He only just managed to slow his pulse when he got up and removed his shirt. He didn't know why he bothered since every night he got up, pulled off his shirt, grabbed a towel to place on the bed, and climbed back under the covers.

When the night terrors returned in earnest six weeks ago, he thought they would pass. They had faded before, so it stood to reason they would fade again. Therefore, he kept wearing a tank to bed. It didn’t really matter; it wasn’t like he was going to wash his sheets every morning when he got up. Instead, he never made the bed; allowing the sheets to air out all day while he was otherwise engaged.

He walked over to the piles of clean clothes and towels stacked against the wall and grabbed a bath towel for the bed. A glance at the clock on the table next to the bed showed him the time was eleven minutes after eleven. _Make a wish_ , he thought grimly.

His two-story house had a perfectly acceptable second floor with a bedroom, but he stopped using the upstairs full-time after Andrew Kim. He felt vulnerable sleeping up there. The ground floor made him feel more secure. He had tossed and turned the first few nights after the botched exorcism, waking up in a cold sweat just like tonight. The night terrors came regardless of where he slept, but there was something soothing about sleeping near the front door. He couldn’t explain it. It’s not like he merely had thrown a mattress down on the floor. There was a simple frame he had bought just for the occasion. He had some standards.

Marcus walked into the kitchen and splashed cold water on his face and neck. He stood there considering his current situation. Although if he was being completely honest, the whole bed thing started after that night at St. Peter’s. He put his hands on either side of the sink and bowed his head.

“Heavenly Father. I know You have a plan for me and I trust in Your guidance completely. This test of my strength and conviction will only make me stronger, not only for You but for those innocent souls who have been targeted by the darkness of your fallen son, Lucifer. Help me, Lord, through the black moments so I may be able to recognize the light when I see it. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

He sighed. Lifting his head back, he arched his back to stretch the muscles a bit before he climbed back into bed. When he did slip back under the covers after laying down the towel, he was asleep just as his head hit the pillow.

 

 

 

A knock at the door was the next thing Marcus heard. He tried to ignore it, but it was a persistent knock. He moaned and groggily looked at the digital alarm clock next to the bed. It was just before seven in the morning and the sun already was poking in around the closed curtains of the house’s windows.

The knocking had not ceased. It came in small intervals with two beats of silence between the bursts of noise. Marcus threw back the covers, pulled on last night’s tank top and shuffled to the door. He found a most unexpected — and most unwanted — visitor.

Tomas Ortega stood at the door dressed just as well as he had the day before. Now instead of a blazer he wore a blue pullover sweater with a partial zipper at the neck. He was holding an insulated food carrier and smiled when Marcus opened the door. “Good morning, Marcus. I apologize for coming unannounced, but I thought I would have a better chance if I come bearing gifts. I thought we would have breakfast together.”

Marcus was impressed. Annoyed, just as he had been yesterday in Bennett’s office, but impressed. He reluctantly stepped aside and allowed the doctor to the cross the threshold.

Dr. Ortega took in his surroundings as he was led into the kitchen. The bed in the living room did not escape his attention. He noticed the other side of the room to the left of the front door, as well as half of the space to the right, was an actual living room, but the makeshift bedroom to the right held his attention. He followed Marcus into the kitchen, placing the carrier onto the table. The kitchen was as sparsely decorated as the rest of the first floor: whatever basics came with the house, plus a table and chairs, and curtains on the windows. He saw potential in the space, but he also appreciated its utilitarian aesthetic.

Marcus grabbed two glasses and filled them with water from a pitcher he kept in the refrigerator. Dr. Ortega pulled out two covered bowls as Marcus set the beverages on the table and picked up forks and napkins. They sat down opposite each other. Dr. Ortega removed the lids off each bowl before handing one of the dishes to Marcus.

“Protein scramble. Eggs, sausage. The breakfast of champions.” He smiled. “Bon appetit.”

Marcus gave him a look, but he couldn't deny how amazingly good the meal smelled. He took a bite and his reaction was nearly orgasmic. It had been ages since he had a proper meal, let alone a home cooked one. “This is very good.”

Dr. Ortega smiled. "I'm glad you are enjoying it.”

“Bennett didn't just randomly call you out of the blue, did he?” The priest did not look at his guest, but took a few swallows of water from his glass.

The doctor considered his host for a minute before answering. He knew Marcus was curious, but he wanted to know how curious. He had been curious about him, too, from his conversation with Father Bennett. Even more so after he met the subject in person. “No. He did not. Amelia Katz referred him to me. Apparently she had no interest in ‘psychoanalyzing’ you.”

A small smile escaped Marcus’ lips. “No. I suppose she wouldn't.” He looked at the doctor. “Why are you?”

“I'm not. However, I am interested in continuing our conversation on a casual basis. Three times a week, perhaps?”

Marcus ignored the proposal. “You used to be a priest in Mexico City. You have been published and lauded as a psychiatrist. With your stature, I'm surprised you would take an interest in a broken-down old priest like me.”

“You have done your research, Father Keane. I am flattered,” the doctor said. “But you are not ‘broken down.’ Far from it. Beaten, perhaps. But not broken. There is too much fight in you as evidenced by our chat yesterday and its rather abrupt end. As for ‘old,’ age is a construct of the mind. What is that adage? ‘You are only as old you feel.”

Marcus had stormed out after the doctor’s revelation. He still didn't know what to make of it. He regarded Dr. Ortega coolly. He didn't know what to make of _him_ either.

“I've been to Mexico City,” he said. “I would like to go back again one day.”

“As would I. It's a beautiful place with good people and a wonderful culture. I miss it.”

“Why leave?” The priest could feel he was crossing a line he didn't fully know if he wanted to cross, but he felt compelled to engage his companion. The devil you know.

“An exorcism did not end well. A young boy named Gabriel. He had integrated and I couldn't bring him back. It shattered me. I knew I wanted to help people, but I could no longer do so as a man of the cloth. I always had an interest in the mind. It is partly what drew me to becoming an exorcist. So I left the parish, got my Ph.D. and opened my own practice inside my home in Baltimore.”

Dr. Ortega took a few bites from his dish. “Why teaching?”

“It pays the rent,” Marcus quipped.

“That’s all? And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

Marcus took another bite. “I don't find you that interesting.”

A knowing smile played on the other man’s features. “You will.”

They finished the rest of their meal in a somewhat companionable silence. Once the containers were rinsed out and repacked, Dr. Ortega started to take his leave. Marcus walked him to the door.

“How many cats?” the doctor asked. “I noticed the litter box.”

The priest gave a small laugh. “Two. Winston and Buster.” He shrugged. “I'm bad at names.”

As if on cue, the adopted strays came walking into the living room. One was all black, the other had brown and white fur.

“Very sweet.” Dr. Ortega turned his head away from the cats to look at Marcus. “Tomorrow evening at seven. A standing appointment.” He held out a business card. “My address and phone number. I sincerely wish you do not cancel.”

Marcus took the card and nodded. “Three times a week is not ‘casual.’’

The doctor smiled.

“Goodbye, Marcus.”

“Goodbye, Dr. Ortega.”

 

 

 

Bennett sat on a park bench with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He raised his head after a few moments, his hands running down his face. He had been stuck in Virginia for the past six weeks or so because of Marcus. They had been in contact when Marcus had taken on the Andrew Kim case, but Bennett had been out of the country on Church business.

Truth be told, he was rarely in the country. He only flew in for Marcus because if his old, pain-in-the-ass friend called, there was good reason. Bennett had arrived here the week before the massacre. Marcus had every reason to believe Andrew Kim was possessed, but no concrete proof to back up his assertions.

He had even joined Marcus on two separate occasions during that week leading up to the deaths to interview Kim. Marcus wasn’t wrong; this Bennett knew. Again, there was nothing to prove what Marcus had believed to be true. At least during the first joint session.

During the second, the older exorcist was more aggressive — and cunning. Bennett had sensed this second visit to the Kim home could end with both him and Marcus in jail as Andrew Kim had become more tense and annoyed at Marcus’ line of questioning.

Then the lead exorcist had done something unexpected. He had started conversing with Kim in Korean for a few minutes, switched to Aramaic for a question (“How many languages do you speak?”) and then, just as smoothly, reverted back to Korean. Marcus finally had switched back to English, apologizing for being rude to Bennett and Kim’s wife, Nicole.

The priests had left the residence a few minutes later. Once they were on the road, Marcus had looked at Bennett in the driver’s seat.

“You caught that right?”

Bennett had nodded, not taking his eyes off the road. “‘More languages than you are even aware that exist.’”

Marcus had snorted. “Didn’t even blink. Just kept prattling on in Korean right after, as I did. Do you think he realized his mistake?”

They had come to a stop at a red light. Bennett had looked at his passenger. “For everyone’s sake, I sincerely hope not.”

Now Bennett sighed. This nightmare would not end. He had been read the riot act over the phone by Marcus over an hour ago about assigning him a shrink who “looks like he stepped out of a bloody Ralph Lauren ad and is about to go sail his yacht off Montauk.”

“Are you at least going to meet with the man?” he had asked wearily.

“Of course, I’m going to meet with him! I got the distinct impression he would find it rude if I didn’t.”

“It honestly can’t hurt. He’s credentialed, has a sterling reputation and comes highly recommended, as you well know. You do just trust Amelia, don’t you?”

Marcus had sighed; the sound was long and low. “Yes. She already knows my thoughts on the subject.”

Bennett had leaned back in his chair within his temporary office. “Should I also check Bloodhound? I’m sure Rose Cooper has made it her top story.”

“Bite your tongue, Bennett,” he had hissed. “She ever got wind I was seeing a shrink she would label us ‘murder husbands’ and have us killing people up and down the East Coast.”

At this, Bennett had laughed. “That she would.”

He stood up now, leaving the bench as he spotted Mouse walking towards him. She didn’t look happy. He wasn’t expecting her to be. She also had heard from Marcus this morning as he had implied to Bennett earlier, so she already was in a foul mood. The idea of meeting Bennett to further discuss the topic only exacerbated her state of mind.

“Devon.” She eyed him wearily, not trusting the reason for their meeting.

“Amelia.” He knew better than to call her Mouse. That name was for Marcus only. She may not be fond of it, but it was still special to her. “Shall we walk?”

The walked in silence for a few minutes. Neither was sure where to begin. The park was lovely this time of year, green and lush, with the touch of warmth in the air adding to the serenity of the place. God’s work at its finest as far as each was concerned. Tall trees full of leaves that rustled gently in the light breeze. Blades of grass created a soft carpet to lounge, play or walk on, while insects, birds and squirrels crawled, flitted and/or skittered by in a world of their own design.

“Are you putting him back in the field?” Mouse asked, her arms crossed as the breeze tickled her brown hair.

It’s a question she had been pondering for some time; ever since Bennett had asked if she could recommend a good psychiatrist for Marcus. He had hoped she would take on the task, but she steadfastly had refused. Marcus was a friend, she had told Bennett. She had no interest in seeing him in any other light. Part of her knew this wasn’t entirely true. Part of her was very much interested in Marcus Keane in ways that had nothing to do with friendship. The rest of her wished she would just get over him already.

“I have no immediate wish to see him exorcising demons — not in the shape he is in. His confidence was shaken with the Andrew Kim case. That said, nothing would make me happier than to see him back to form and saving lives the only way he knows how.” He stopped walking, looking at Mouse directly. “He is God’s vessel. His will flows through Marcus. He has felt His touch; knows He walks with him in every step he takes; speaks His words when performing exorcisms.”

“Marcus spoke His words when he was giving Communion and delivering Mass and hearing Confession, too,” she said, her words laced with venom. “At least inside a church, he’s not a weapon.”

“No, he’s just a lamb who was almost slaughtered,” Bennett fired back.

Mouse looked like she had been just punched in the gut. Bennett’s words had hit their target. She remembered that night vividly. The scene outside St. Peter’s as the red and blue lights of the police cars and ambulances had lit up the night sky. The crowd that had gathered to get a glimpse of the drama occurring at the house of worship. The feelings of fear and dread when she had seen the gurney with the sheet completely covering the body being wheeled past. Her eyes were closed now as she pushed back down those old emotions that had threatened to rise up like bile at the back of her throat.

“He is a soldier in a war that we are _losing_ ,” Bennett said, softer but with urgency. “I can’t have him hiding in a classroom when he should be on the frontlines fighting with everything he’s got.”

She opened her eyes slowly. “Why won’t you protect him?”

“I am. That’s why he’s seeing Dr. Ortega — on your recommendation, I might add. It’s as much for him as it is for the greater good. A strong Marcus, a healthy Marcus, is a Marcus that is indomitable. God is watching over him. I believe that. This is what is best for him.”

“For him or for you? The sooner he’s back in fighting shape, the sooner you can abscond to more a palatable destination.”

Bennett was beginning to lose his patience. “Do you want him hiding in a classroom, miserable, because he’s too scared to face his demons? Or would you rather see him out in the world eviscerating actual demons and saving souls?”

“I want him doing what he wants to do with a clear mind and a clear conscience.”

Her response affected him more than he expected. It shook him; took the fight out of him. She was right, of course. He knew that instantly. “Forgive me,” he said. “I want that, too.”

He exhaled and started walking again. She followed suit.

“I know you do.”

A comfortable silence fell over them as they strolled along the concrete path that wound between the trees. The birdsong seemed amplified within the quiet lull in their conversation.

“Tomas is an excellent psychiatrist,” she admitted, not for the first time. “If anyone can break through Marcus’ shellacked psyche it’s him. He’ll bring him back.”

Bennett smiled. So did Amelia. They completed the circuit of the small park before heading back to their vehicles and parting ways, their paths diverging for now.

 

 

 

Marcus greeted his class exuberantly. He walked around to the front of his desk with a spring in his step. It was hard not to be affected by his good mood, infectious as it was.

He resumed his lecture from the day before on Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein_. It had occurred to him it may seem rather simplistic, but he then decided it was a fortuitous way to ease back into the class. The semester had been sketched out before the Christmas break. Once he had begun rereading the novel over the holidays, he got into the idea and mapped out the second half of the semester the book would cover. Now, he was discussing the some of the lesser themes and not-so-obvious iconography of the book. Make sure that handsome tuition was worth every penny.

Over the course of each class, he would work his way down to the smallest details. There would be a paper assigned and a final exam, which was expected. He would have preferred to eschew the exam — the papers always were the more fascinating barometer for discovering if a student was grasping the fundamentals of the course. This was not an option, however. So if he suffered, they all would suffer. Fairly. Always fairly.

An hour later, he released his students and noticed someone standing just inside the door. The person was dressed in an immaculate, burgundy three-piece suit. Marcus shook his head and walked over to meet his guest.

“I’m beginning to think I have a stalker. Should I be worried, Dr. Ortega?”

The psychiatrist smiled. “I apologize. I had a cancellation. It occurred to me I should see the teacher in his natural environment.”

“And?”

“You are a captivating speaker, Marcus. I’ve read _Frankenstein_ many times, yet even I was enthralled. You have me seeing the story in a different light; noticing things I did not fully consider previously.”

Marcus laughed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I would never dare.” He was most sincere. “I think of you as an equal. Insulting your intelligence would be rude.”

This was unexpected. Then again, so was everything about Tomas Ortega. His attitude. His wardrobe. His life. He was an enigma. Marcus’ years of dealing with demons and pious Church officials had made him an expert in unraveling enigmas. Still, he had a feeling the good doctor would be more of a challenge. He walked back to his desk, leaning against it with his back to the whiteboard as he crossed his arms.

“You asked me this morning why I became a teacher. Would you still like an answer?”

“Of course,” Dr. Ortega said as he leaned against the desk next to Marcus, his hands on clasping its edge on either side of him. “If you are willing to give one.”

“If it hadn’t been for God, I would have been teaching. It was my first love, but He was the love of my life. Counseling my parishioners was a worthy substitute, as you can probably understand.” He glanced at Tomas, who nodded in assent. “When circumstances prevented me from continuing my duties at St. Peter’s, I was offered a position here at the college. It felt like a second chance; a mea culpa from Our Heavenly Father. Aside from performing exorcisms, it has been the only place where I felt comfortable.”

Marcus surprised himself. He hadn’t planned on revealing something that was so private he hadn’t fully accepted it on a conscious level.

“Yet you are only truly happy when you are an exorcist. Your true self exposed for the world to see.”

“Yes.” Marcus looked at the doctor. He was good. He was very good. No wonder Mouse recommended him. Sure there was an excellent chance, Marcus supposed, he wasn’t the closed book he presumed he was. Somehow he knew that wasn’t the case. Tomas was in tune with him — unnervingly so. _Does the pendulum swing both ways?_ he wondered.

“We are more similar than perhaps either of us would like to admit. Both of us exorcists. Both of us men of faith. Prone to helping those in need. I wonder how far this goes?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” Marcus was thinking about their unofficial sessions, which they were due to start tomorrow evening.

“I guess we will.” Dr. Ortega was not.


	3. Chapter 3

It was just before seven in the morning on a bright Wednesday in early March and the Kim house was bustling. Andrew and Nicole were in the kitchen working on getting their four kids fed. Theirs was a foster home on paper, but as far as the couple were concerned, they were raising their own children. Verity, Truck (whose actual name was David), Shelby and Caleb belonged to the couple just as Andrew and Nicole belonged to the four of them. That many teenagers under one roof wasn’t always easy, but they somehow managed. Now they were managing their kitchen duties with Andrew making breakfast and Nicole in charge of lunches. Verity walked into the room, took one look at the scene before her and turned to walk back out. Nicole caught her.

“Hey hey hey! You better be going upstairs to light a fire under your brothers’ butts. Breakfast is nearly ready and they need to be at the bus stop in thirty minutes!” she called out as Verity nodded her head while she exited.

Nicole turned towards Andrew. “I’m going to have to go up there, aren’t I?”

He chuckled as he moved pancakes off the griddle and onto waiting plates. “Most likely. Can you put these on the table?”

“Sure.” She took two plates stacked with hot, fluffy goodness and placed them where the kids would sit. Then went back to counter and grabbed two more plates as Andrew placed the last of the pancakes onto most of the remaining dishes.

When Nicole’s back was turned, he looked down next to him and saw her: little Grace, who looked up at him with a big smile and bigger eyes. Andrew swallowed and turned his attention back to the stove, where he removed the pan of sausage links from the burner and turned off the equipment. He dumped the links onto two paper towels and folded the towels over the meat to absorb the excess grease. Finally, he dumped the links onto the last plate, which he handed to Nicole with a smile. She smiled and kissed him.

“I’m going to kill those kids.”

He laughed uncomfortably. Grace was still next to him; he could feel her presence. She didn’t exist. This he knew, yet there she was by his side.

“You okay?” Nicole asked. “You’re acting weird and you’re a little pale.” She sighed, a note of concern creeping into her voice. “I hope you’re not coming down with something. The last thing we need is an infected house.”

He gave a quick smile. “I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll go see what’s keeping our beloved children.” Leaving the kitchen, he looked back and wished to God he had not. Grace was eyeing Nicole with the most malevolent grin on her tiny features as his wife finished packing the kids’ lunches.

Upstairs, Verity had found her brothers in Truck and Caleb’s bedroom. They appeared to be having a serious discussion. About what she had no idea and wished she wasn’t about to ask.

“What are you guys doing? Breakfast is ready and Nicole is already freaking out.”

“Close the door,” Shelby said.

Verity eyed the guys for a few seconds before doing as she was instructed. “What are you up to?” she asked, her arms folded.

“We’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with Andy,” Shelby said. “He’s been acting weird for the past few weeks. Little things, but we’ve all noticed. Don’t tell me you haven’t.”

The three of them all looked at her expectantly. They weren’t wrong. She _had_ noticed Andy being weird. She had dismissed it as a trick of her mind or it just Andy being Andy, but she knew in her gut that wasn’t the case. He had been talking to thin air the past few weeks on more than one occasion. When she finally called him on it the other day, he chalked it up to stress, but she knew that was a lie.

“Yeah, maybe,” she admitted. “He says he’s under a lot of stress. That’s what happens when you get old.” She felt guilty brushing off their legitimate concerns, but she didn’t feel like dealing with it now.

“It’s not that, Verity, and you know it.” Now Caleb was calling her out. Great. Even the blind kid could see what was going on more clearly than herself. “Why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying,” she said, becoming defensive. “We just don’t have time to deal with this now. We’ll talk about it after school. I promise.”

“You promise?” Truck asked. “You really mean it? Shelby and Caleb are right. This is serious.”

“Yes! I promise! Now can we _please_ go eat before one of them comes up here?” This conversation was putting Verity on edge. Now they had her thinking about Andy’s behavior of late and she was getting nervous. What if there was something really wrong? What if by ignoring what was happening right in front of her she only was making things worse? Lost in thought when she opened the bedroom door, she jumped when she saw Andy standing on the other side of the threshold.

“Breakfast is ready, gang. Let’s go! Chop, chop!” He clapped his hands together at the last part. The kids filed past him on their way downstairs. They had just entered the kitchen when the phone rang. Verity answered while the others assembled at the table.

“Hello?”

“May I speak with Andrew Kim, please?”

“Uh, sure. Hold on.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Andy? It’s for you.”

“Who is it?” He wasn’t expecting any calls, especially not this early.

Verity shrugged her shoulders. “Dunno. Caller ID says it's blocked. He’s got an accent though. Spanish, maybe?”

Andy walked over and took the receiver from her. “Go eat,” he said and then louder for the room: “And wrap the sausage in the pancakes if it will make you eat faster. You all need to be at the bus stop in twenty minutes!”

He watched his family at the kitchen table for a second before he turned his back and addressed the caller. “Hello?”

“Mister Kim?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know me. We have never met. Consider this a courtesy call. The priest is on his way to your home. He knows.”

The last thing Andy Kim remembered hearing before telling Father Marcus Keane to kill him was the click of the caller hanging up.

 

 

Marcus paced the small waiting room outside Dr. Ortega’s office. The practice was located at the psychiatrist’s home in Baltimore, Maryland, but it had its own private entrance to keep Dr. Ortega’s professional and private lives separate. The room was comfortable enough with light green walls with dark green trim; two chairs on either side of a leather couch which featured two decorative pillows, purple with an outline of black flowers; and a window to the right of the entrance. Artwork lined the walls; a cabinet with books stacked on top sat next to the main door on the right with a squat bookcase along the wall to the left of the door.

Marcus had sat down for all of seven seconds when he began pacing like a lion in a cage. _An old gray lion_ , he thought humorlessly. He kept his hands in the pockets of his black trousers as he moved back and forth, back and forth.

_Why the hell am I even here? I’m fine. I’m teaching. I’m bothering no one. My students don’t have an issue with me. My colleagues don’t appear to be bothered by my presence. The dean is pleased so far. So why the fuck am I here in this godforsaken room waiting for a man who will either keep me in the classroom or throw me back out into the field? Either way I’m screwed._

He stopped pacing.

A sense of dawning rose from a place very deep in his soul.

The door to the office opened. It was precisely seven o’clock. Dr. Ortega was pleased to see Marcus waiting for him. He also could see something was bothering the man, something fresh. He took a breath, enjoying the thought of the session to come.

“Good evening, Marcus.”

“Dr. Ortega.”

The doctor stepped aside in order for Marcus to enter his office. The space was impressive at least twice the size of the waiting room. The wall across from the door featured a second-floor landing which wrapped around the circumference of the room and housed an impressive bookshelf filled to capacity. The unit even had its own ladder to reach the landing so its owner could access his collection. Beneath was a couch to the right with four paintings lining the wall and an armless wood chair just to the left of the settee.

There was a lit fireplace on the left side of the far wall to the left of the door. In front of the fireplace was a small desk with an armchair. A few feet away was a larger mahogany desk with a leather chair appropriate for a piece of furniture of its stature. Two tall, curtained windows were fitted into the wall opposite the desks with a chaise lounge in front. Upon entering from the waiting room, two chairs sat facing each other in the center of the space between the main desk and the lounge.

Marcus took it all in. He was damned impressed and feeling more than a little out of his element.

“Would you like a drink?” Dr. Ortega asked.

“Is that appropriate?” Marcus really hated this feeling of unknowing when it came to the man to his left. There had been moments in their past two meetings at his house and his classroom, where Marcus felt maybe he was starting to figure out the enigmatic psychiatrist. Then there was every other second with him that left Marcus feeling like he was out walking on a moonless night, thick with fog and unable to discern the truth from the shadows.

The doctor smiled. “You are not my patient, remember? We are merely having a conversation, mi amigo.”

Marcus wanted to burst out laughing, but tempered it to a small chuckle. “Then a drink would be appropriate.”

“Will you not call me Tomas?” he requested as he poured whiskey into two tumblers that were housed in a drinks cabinet along the wall to the left of the door. “The formality seems unnecessary.”

“Sólo conversación, Tomas?” the priest asked, accepting the drink.

This amused the younger man immensely. He knew he had liked this exorcist from the moment they had met. The more time he spent in his company only allowed his admiration to flourish. “Tal vez más….”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, the curve of his mouth twitching. He held up his glass. “To new friends with common interests.”

Tomas mimicked the gesture. “May our desire never be quenched.”

They both took a sip of their respective drinks, their eyes never leaving each other.

“Shall we begin?” Tomas asked after they had finished their drinks.

Once seated in the chairs, they sat in silence. Like two gunslingers at high noon in a western, each waited for the other to make the first move. Tomas sat with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap. Marcus lounged with his arms resting on the chair’s wide arms, his legs stretched out in front of him. The men wore grins as both found the scene amusing. Ever the professional, Tomas broke the silence first.

“Tell me what happened while you were waiting for me just now.”

The grin disappeared from Marcus’ face. He lowered his eyes so they stared at his feet, which were crossed at the ankles. He didn’t say anything at first. Then he started to drum his fingers on the leather that encased the arm of his chair.

“I’m in Purgatory. I can’t be inside a church and I don’t want to be stuck in a classroom for the rest of my life, but I’m—” he stopped. His mouth suddenly dry and the air gone from his lungs.

“Marcus.” Tomas watched him cautiously. He received no response. Leaning forward, his hands clasped as his arms rested on his knees, he called out to his friend again. This time, louder. “ _Marcus._ ”

The priest’s head snapped up and the air flooded back into his lungs. His mouth was still dry, but now he managed to speak. “I’m not ready to perform an exorcism. I don’t think I want to.”

Tomas considered this admission. It was an understandable reaction, but not one he would tolerate. Marcus Keane was going to be performing exorcisms again if he had to sic a demon on someone himself. You just don’t leave one of God’s vessels emaciated; to wither on the vine. Or the cross, in this case.

“You are scared. You have been at the center of two violent incidents in a short period of time.”

“Eight months.”

“Exactly. That is merely the blink of an eye. The trauma you have incurred from these incidents have infested your psyche like a—”

“Demon.”

Tomas sat back and again crossed his legs, placing his hands in his lap. “I was going to say ‘infestation’, but the result is the same. You have allowed it to take root. If you don’t confront it, the demon will integrate with you. That is not something you want to happen.”

Marcus shook his head. It was not.

“How do you sleep? Over the past eight months, have your sleeping patterns changed at all?”

Marcus scoffed. “Who needs sleep? Highly overrated.”

“Nightmares.”

“Night _terrors,_ ” he corrected.

“Tell me.”

“I go to bed. Fall asleep. Dream of dark and terrible things. Wake up drenched in a cold sweat. Get my breathing under control. Get up. Splash cold water on my face. Put a towel down on the bed. Go back to sleep. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.”

“You have been doing this for eight months?”

Marcus pursed his lips and shook his head. “Six weeks. Last time, it was three months before they stopped.”

“After the church.”

“After the church.”

Silence fell over the room. Tomas took in every last word Marcus told him. This man was a warrior. A martyr. The idea of being trapped in a room with a desk and whiteboard instead of being on the frontlines of the coming war was worse than death. His mind was fractured. His soul blackened. He was a fallen angel. He was the most beautiful creature Dr. Tomas Ortega had ever seen.

“We will exorcise this demon of yours, Marcus. The exorcist will rise again. I promise you that.”

Marcus saw the determination on Tomas’ face; the glint in his eye he couldn’t quite decipher. He believed him. For the first time in six weeks, maybe even in the past eight months, Marcus felt a feeling wash over him he thought had long since abandoned him: hope.

By God, if it didn’t scare the crap out of him.

 

 

“You know we could have just met for coffee, Tomas. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Amelia and Tomas were sitting at the table across from each other in his dining room with fresh fruit, croissants, yogurt and a carafe of coffee laid out in front of them. She had called him this morning to touch base. She had felt a bit guilty throwing him to the wolves as it were and had thought she ought to apologize.

When he had invited her over to his house for a late-morning repast, the guilt had weighed a little heavier. Though the fact he was an outstanding cook who knew how to seduce a palate with flavors that could send one’s taste buds into orgasm alleviated some of the guilt. How could she turn down such a delectable offer? Even God would allow her this one indulgence.

“It was no trouble. It has been too long since we’ve seen each other.” He smiled warmly at her. “Besides, it gave me the perfect excuse to use my new French press.”

She laughed. “In that case, you’re welcome.” She sipped the steaming, dark-roasted beverage in her cup. “Ohmigod that is amazing.”

He leaned towards her. “You cannot get _that_ at Starbucks.” He winked, leaning back and popping a grape into his mouth.

“You’re right. It _has_ been too long since we’ve seen other. Or talked, for that matter,” she said. “I hope my recommending you to Bennett wasn’t inconvenient or unwanted. I know it was out of the blue. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad friend.”

The worry and concern were etched into her features, but he saw it had less to do with him and more to do with their mutual friend. Not that he doubted her sincerity towards him. Quite the opposite. He was touched that she cared; though not as much as she would have liked.

“On the contrary. We both have been remiss in that department. I was pleasantly surprised — and rather flattered — that you thought of me at all when dealing with such a sensitive subject as your friend.”

Tomas didn’t see the point in telling her the progress he had made in his relationship with Marcus. It was small yet incremental and there was so much potential there. To inform her of their connection would muddy the waters. “Also, I enjoyed meeting Devon. He is a very smart, well-educated man. Dedicated in more ways than one.”

Amelia plucked an apple slice off her plate and bit into it. “He’s a good man. Mildly infuriating, but good. From what I can tell, he’s been Marcus’ ally almost from the beginning. They have friction, but it seems to strengthen their bond. Basically they are both pains in each other’s asses, which is exactly how they like it.”

Tomas chuckled. “That sounds like a wonderful relationship. I am a bit jealous. I have never had a connection like that with someone.”

She grunted. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You and Marcus?”

“Yeah, more or less. Did it go well last night? He said he was meeting with you.”

“I will not discuss my conversation with Marcus.”

“So you _did_ meet with him?”

Tomas gave a thin smile. “I did.”

She relaxed. “Do you think you’ll meet with him again?”

“I do.”

“Good.” She broke open her croissant and spread a light layer of yogurt on half of the flaky pastry. “So tell me what you have been up to, Tomas. I want to know _everything_.”

He had forgotten how Amelia could flip her mood like a switch. If she had an agenda, she would take care of it quickly so as to get back to feeling in control of herself and her situation. She didn’t like feeling out of sorts with herself. “I need to be centered,” she had once told him. “If I feel like I’m not, then I can just feel myself careening toward the abyss.”

He felt a slight twitch from somewhere within him. It wasn’t remorse for what was to come. He had no qualms about the future. No, this was something else. This was pity. Pity that most likely he would not be around to see if she would, indeed, careen into the abyss. It’s an outcome for which he was curious to see play out. Her romantic attachment to Marcus was an unwelcome, though not unexpected, intrusion. Perhaps, if circumstances allow…. He refocused his thoughts on the scene that was currently playing out.

“I do not think you would survive such knowledge, Amelia,” he told her. “However, I will give you the highlights.”

 

 

The classroom was dark. The shades had been drawn to block out the natural light. It was overcast, but still bright outside. Inside the students were watching a short film on insects as part of a life science class. Not everyone was paying attention. There were the expected whispers and even some light snoring.

The film had at least one fan.

This girl was enthralled by the subject matter. She knew how a caterpillar became a butterfly. Everyone knew that. It was basic knowledge. Yet as she watched it literally unfold before her eyes onscreen, it was like she was experiencing it for the first time. She understood how that caterpillar felt. She had yet to metamorphose into a butterfly, but her time was coming. Soon, she would enter her very own chrysalis and emerge into a creature of innate, delicate beauty.

Grace had promised.

Harper Graham wasn’t sure she had liked Grace when they had first met. Mr. Kim had introduced them. He said Grace had wanted to meet her and the younger girl was a very good judge of character. Harper was flattered Grace had taken a liking to her, but the older girl noticed none of the other kids ever talked to her. She had even asked Caleb about Grace, but he just changed the subject so she dropped it.

Caleb and Harper had known each other since last school year when he was placed in the Kim household, but had grown closer since the start of the current term. She didn’t have a lot of friends, so she always loved hanging out with him at his foster home because everyone made her feel like one of the family. Sure they had to endure the teasing about them K-I-S-S-I-N-G, but they either had ignored it and rolled their eyes at each other or had laughed it off.

Harper missed those days now. Even more, she missed her best friend. Nothing had been the same since Mr. Kim died. Just like that, Caleb had been ripped from her life. She hadn’t heard from him since the night before the massacre. They had texted before bed as always. She liked how normal he was despite being blind. He never let that stop him. That was how they had bonded: two freaks in a world where the normals outnumbered them. Now Harper was alone again.

Not completely alone. She had her mom … and Grace. She had showed up the day Mr. Kim died and hadn’t left her side. It was nice having her around, but Grace wasn’t Caleb. Harper desperately wanted to know what was happening with him. Was he okay? Did he miss her?

There was whispering coming from the desk next to her. She had heard the boy say something rude about her and Caleb. Or she thought he had. It was probably her imagination. She focused on the film, which now had the narrator discussing queen bees and worker bees and how honey was made.

This time, she heard what the boy said. She didn’t fully understand its connotation, but she suspected it was sexual. Her cheeks flushed; the heat intensifying the more she thought about the boy, what he had said about her and Caleb.

She hoped he would choke on his words.

He did.

The boy started gagging and vomiting.

Up came the lights and the film paused as the teacher and his classmates stared at him horrified. They were frozen in place, unable to believe what they were seeing.

He had wretched, but it was not vomit that had come up and hit the desk. It was a collection of dead caterpillars and bees.

Blood dripped off the sides of his desk.

The boy fell out of his chair; a loud crack filled the room as his head smacked the desk next to his. He lay there on the floor, eyes open; no life left in his body except for the lone caterpillar that crawled out of his open mouth.

Harper stared straight ahead, never once looking over at the scene next to her. She sighed. She really had wanted to see the end of that documentary.


	4. Chapter 4

“Tell me about Andrew Kim.” 

The request was simple.  

The subject matter was not. 

Tomas said nothing further as he waited patiently for Marcus to collect his thoughts. That was the problem. Marcus had many thoughts regarding Andrew Kim, but hadn't yet bothered to sort them. They were stuffed in a box with the lid secured tight and placed in the darkest, most hard-to-reach place in his brain. _Actually, that would explain the night terrors,_ Marcus thought drolly.  

“What would you like to know? That he was a good person? A loving family man who, along with his wife, gave up a lucrative law career to become devoted foster parents in an unforgiving system and whom gave second chances to deserving kids who had been dealt a shitty hand the first time around? A man who became possessed by a demon that preyed on his guilt over the death of a little girl named Grace, who died at the hands of a child molester who moved into the neighborhood but had failed to register, all because Andy stopped to have a conversation with another parent at the park one day after he picked up Grace from school and they walked home like they always did when the weather was nice, but this _one time_ when Grace slipped her hand out of Andy’s she was gone forever?” 

Marcus was seething. He was beyond angry. His breathing was jagged. His cheeks were flushed. His eyes burned with a heat that intensified the blue of his irises. 

Tomas observed the change with satisfaction. The more he got to know Marcus, the more he liked him. A passion churned within the exorcist that delighted and fascinated the psychiatrist. He could see the pain, the anguish, the love, the hope fighting for dominance inside this wounded animal. The potential of what Marcus could become — _would_ become with his guidance — excited and aroused Tomas like nothing before. _No, not even that came as close as this,_ he thought. _This is so much more._  

“How long was it between Grace’s death and when you were informed Andy may be possessed?” Tomas asked. 

“A month, maybe six weeks,” was the reply. “The church had resisted at first. Of course, they bloody well did. God forbid they actually take something like this seriously. I understand better than most what can happen if you perform an exorcism on someone who is not possessed. I just—” He took a breath. “Knowing what I know now, I just wish they hadn’t dragged their feet. That’s all.” 

“And how long was it between when you were informed Andy may be possessed and your confirming it?” 

“Two weeks. He was dead a week later along with his wife and daughter.” 

“A lot can happen in two weeks,” Tomas said, egging on his friend. 

“Not enough.” Marcus spat out the words. 

“What is it?” 

Marcus tilted his head back. He was again stretched out in the chair opposite Tomas with his legs extended out in front of him and his arms resting on those of the chair. 

“The kids knew something was off with Andy.” He brought his head forward so again he was looking at Tomas. “His oldest, Shelby, came to see me at St. Peter’s after Bennett and I paid a visit to the house. By then, we knew it was true. Shelby said he and his brothers had each witnessed Andy acting strange. He even thought Verity knew things, but they hadn’t talked about it with her yet. They were afraid she wouldn’t believe them or worse, she would tell Andy and Nikki. They decided to tell me instead. They thought I would believe them. They were right.” 

Marcus was silent as he replayed the scenes in his head. He wasn’t looking at Tomas as he did this, but his eyes eventually moved to the other man’s face. “It took nearly a week for the papal dispensation to finally come through. When I arrived at the Kim house, Nikki was already dead in the front hallway. Andy had Verity with a knife to her throat, using her as a shield. His eyes were the blackest black. He spewed the vilest words possible. Verity tried to be brave, but she was scared shitless. So was I. I launched into the ritual; I couldn’t wait for Bennett. My words — the words of God — were hitting their mark, but not enough. I knew Andy was fighting as hard as he could. 

“Then it happened. He dragged the knife across her throat. She was gone before she hit the floor. Andy gained control just long enough to see what he had done to her. He must have known he killed Nikki, too. He looked at me and said, ‘Do it.’ So I did. I pulled the gun I had tucked in the back of my waistband and shot him in the head.” 

“You saved his soul. It was an act of kindness. Nothing good would have come had he survived.” Tomas watched patiently for a reaction. The apple in the garden waiting to be plucked. 

“Two for the price of one. Manager’s special.” There was steel in his voice; his words dripping with sarcasm. “Did the world a favor, did I?” 

“No. You did Andy Kim a favor. For that, you should forgive yourself as you have forgiven him for his trespasses.” 

Marcus grunted. “I’ll get right on that.” 

“I thought that’s why we were here.” 

A smile. “Touché.” 

Tomas returned the smile. “Any change in your sleeping patterns?” 

A shake of the head. “Neither better nor worse.” 

“I would like to spend the night with you. I want to watch you sleep.” 

This captured Marcus’ attention. His imagination reeled at the thought yet would not reject it. “I didn’t realize it was that kind of party,” he quipped. 

Tomas didn’t answer straight away. He, too, let his imagination play with the tantalizing scenario. He was very much enjoying the possibility. “It’s not. I am curious if our talking will have any effect.” 

“Is that all you’re curious about, Dr. Ortega?” Marcus’ mood had shifted. He was feeling lighter than he had in some time. He wasn’t convinced his slumber would be better, but he had no objections to a sleep survey. The request struck him as odd. However, that seemed to make it normal within the context of their relationship. 

“Of course not. There are a great many things I am curious about regarding yourself, as well as generally.” Tomas was enjoying this side of Marcus. This, he believed, was closer to his true self. This was someone with whom he could see himself happily spending a lot of time. 

“When did you want to do this?” Marcus knew the answer, but needed to hear it. 

“Tonight. Unless you have other plans?” Tomas’ face was blank. He knew Marcus would have no plans. However, it also was rude to assume. 

“I suppose I do now. What time shall I expect you?” 

“What time do you normally go to bed?” 

“Around eleven.” 

“I will be there at ten-thirty.” 

It suddenly occurred to Marcus this was moving way too fast. However, he found he was neither willing nor able to slam on the brakes. “It’s a date.” 

 

 

 

Marcus left Tomas’ office in flux. His general mood was positive, but there was something else flitting in his brain and even fluttering around his heart. He walked to his truck and got inside.  

_“I would like to spend the night with you.”_  

_“I didn’t realize it was that kind of party.”_  

_“There are a great many things I am curious about regarding yourself….”_  

_“It’s a date.”_  

His heart was beating faster in his chest. No. No. He had it wrong. He was reading too much into the situation. “Christ, Keane. Calm the fuck down.” 

He looked in the rearview mirror, tilting his head so he could see his reflection and laughed. A sigh came out as he settled back on the bench. “I make my first friend in years and I think he’s attracted to me. No wonder I’m on my bloody own.”  

The key was in the ignition when his mobile rang. It was Bennett. Marcus answered it immediately. 

“What is it?” he asked. Bennett rarely called to be social. 

“You haven’t been online in the past hour?” Bennett also rarely dealt with pleasantries. 

“No, I was with Dr. Ortega.” Marcus caught himself before referring to his psychiatrist by his Christian name. 

“You’re in Baltimore?” 

“That _is_ where his office is located.” 

The annoyed sigh rolled all the way down the line. “Come to the church now. You need to see this.” 

“On my way.” Marcus hung up and started the truck. His mobile rang again. Mouse was Caller Number Two. 

“Can I call you back? I’m in the truck.” 

“Rose Cooper posted a story about you and Tomas on Bloodhound.” She didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that, but the man deserved to be told. “That tabloid cunt says you found love in the arms of your shrink. ‘The once and future exorcist, finally seeking the mental guidance he needs, has been seen visiting the home of former exorcist and current licensed psychiatrist Dr. Tomas Ortega. The pair is so good on paper, it gives one hope that Mr. Keane officially will dump his first Husband soon and put a ring on it. With their respective pasts, it’s not hard to see these two cutting a bloody swath around the world. After all, it’s not murder if a demon is involved.’” 

The silence was deafening. Mouse wasn’t sure if Marcus had imploded. She was pretty sure she would have heard something if he had, but not positive. “Are you there, Marcus? It’s me, Mouse.” 

Marcus sat in the driver’s seat with one hand gripped so tight on the steering wheel his knuckles were white. He saw nothing. Emotion was another matter. He felt an anger so hot his cheeks flushed. He heard Mouse, but couldn’t talk. The words died in his mouth when his lips refused to move.  

He heard a noise. A tapping. A knocking. It was close yet sounded so far away. Muffled words. A voice. Ever so slowly, Marcus turned his head toward the passenger side window. He saw the person, maybe even recognized him. He did know him. He reached over and opened the door, first dropping his mobile on the seat. 

“You know about the story,” Tomas said.  

He looked down on the seat and saw a call was live on the mobile. He picked it up as he got into the pickup and closed the door. “I’m sorry, Amelia. He will have to call you back.” He ended the call and silenced the phone. The last thing they needed were distractions. He reached over and shut off the engine. 

“Marcus, can you hear me?” The priest only looked at him. His pupils were dilated.  Tomas gripped both sides of Marcus’ head. “Follow the sound of my voice. It will bring you back. You need to come back, Marcus.” There was a blink. “Good. That’s it. Follow me. Follow my voice. Let me bring you home.” More blinking. His pupils were at their normal size. 

“Tomas?” 

“Welcome back, mi amigo. Do you know where you are?” 

Marcus nodded. “My truck. Outside your office. Your home.” 

Tomas kept his gaze on his friend. “Where are we located?” 

“Baltimore, Maryland. I’m fine. Pissed off, but fine.” 

He let go of Marcus’ face, but stayed firmly within his personal space. “You should not be behind the wheel. Come. You will stay for dinner, then I will follow you home for our experiment.” 

Marcus wanted to argue — to turn down the kind offer — but all the energy had been sapped from him. He would have gone to Bennett and raged until dawn, but it seemed pointless now. Tomas was here and offering him a meal with a friend. It was the healthier option. He nodded, bringing a smile to Tomas’ face. _Nice smile,_ he thought distractedly.  

Marcus still wanted to hit something.  

As he followed Tomas into the house, he wondered how many Hail Marys would have to be said in order to get absolution for punching a woman in the face. 

 

 

 

“ _That bloody woman!_ ” 

Bennett slammed down the lid on his laptop. He knew it had been too quiet where Rose Cooper was concerned. He cursed her more colorfully internally. She was a dog with a bone when it came to Marcus. The thought of an exorcist in her own backyard had been too good for her to ignore, but Bennett wished to God she had just stuck to reporting salacious murders and sex scandals.  

The Church was sacred. It should be off-limits. He sighed as he leaned back in his chair, and placed his thumb and middle finger on either side of the bridge of his nose. A knock at the door only made his mood worse. 

“What?” he responded loudly.  

Bennett looked up as Amelia entered. Her mood wasn’t any better than his, especially since someone was absent.  

“So you do know,” she said. “Good.” 

“Don’t you have class?”  

“Don’t you have manners?” 

Bennett groaned and resumed his previous position. He really didn’t have the temperament right now to deal with an oversensitive analyst who considered herself Marcus Keane’s personal guardian angel. The last thing he needed was a self-righteous tongue lashing. If he wanted to be berated, he could just wait an hour for his meeting with Bishop Egan. _Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change._  

“Marcus knows. I told him.” She folded her arms defensively in front of her chest, daring Bennett to attack her. 

He really wished he had committed to the idea of keeping a gun in his messenger bag. Instead, he didn’t move. He was trying to keep his cool. He didn’t think it was working. “Of course, you did,” he mumbled. 

“He had a right to know!” 

“And he would have, had you just kept your mouth shut and let him come to me like he is supposed to!” Bennett shouted. He was on his feet now in full boil. “You are _not_ his keeper. Nor Mary Magdalene to his Jesus. You are just a woman with a schoolgirl crush on a man who is rather obviously _not interested!_ ” 

Amelia stood stock still. She moved not a muscle at first. She absorbed the brunt of his verbal attack. The final blow still rang in her head. Then her heart seized. She started taking deep breaths. _In through the nose, out through the mouth._ The blinking away of tears came next. She thought she held it together rather well. _No way in hell I’m having a breakdown in from Devon fucking Bennett. That patronizing little shit does_ ** _not_** _get the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart._   

When she was safe at home was another matter. There she knew she could collapse into a heap on the floor, where the tears could come and would not stop for a good long while. She could fall asleep on the floor, eventually rising to throw herself fully clothed and still wearing makeup on top of her bed until her alarm went off the next morning. 

Bennett’s mobile buzzed. It was a text message from Marcus. 

“CHANGE OF PLANS. WE’LL TALK TOMORROW.” 

The mobile was tossed back on the desk. Bennett looked at Amelia. “He’s not coming. Go home.” 

She didn’t move. “We need a plan.” 

“I agree. However, my hands are tied until I meet with the bishop in less than an hour. My best guess is that I will be told to do nothing. Honestly, that is probably our best recourse. The Church could sue, but then she wins. The head-in-the-sand approach, while not the sexiest, is probably the move.” 

“Goddammit.” She sunk into one of the chairs in front of the desk as Bennett sat down behind it. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You didn’t write that shitty piece of libel.” She refused to look at him. Instead she played with her fingernail, keeping her hands in her lap. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Amelia gradually raised her eyes to meet his. 

“I’m sorry for my outburst. It was cruel and uncalled for.” 

He was being sincere. She pursed her lips and shrugged. “You’re not wrong. I keep hoping _this_ is the day I get over him. To be fair, you should have seen me a year ago. Even _I_ wanted to flush my head down a toilet.” 

Bennett gave a small smile. 

She smiled in return. “You wanna grab a drink after your meeting? I think you’ll need one.” 

“I’m going to need more than one.” 

She laughed. “Yeah you are.” 

Father Devon Bennett, the man who rarely cracked a smile, chuckled heartily at this astute observation. 

 

 

 

Lorraine Graham didn’t understand what her daughter was saying. She was speaking a foreign language.  

Literally. 

Harper didn’t know any languages other than English. Lately though she had been doing and saying things she wouldn’t normally do _or_ say. The incident at school yesterday only confirmed something was wrong with her daughter. 

It had been a mutual decision between the school and Lorraine that Harper stay home for the next few days. Lorraine had been able to work from home in order to stay with her daughter. She didn’t trust anyone to watch Harper. Mostly because she didn’t trust what Harper might do to them. She was scared of her only child.  

The sweet girl who had lost her best friend due to that unpleasantness over at the Kim house had been slipping away for the past few weeks. Maybe even longer, Lorraine couldn’t be sure. The change in Harper had been gradual, but not unnoticeable. Lorraine thought it was part of her grieving process, but too late realized it was something else. Something much worse. 

“Pourquoi tu ne m’écoutes pas? 

“Mamma, per favore aiutami!” 

Lorraine thought maybe Harper was pleading with her to help her or understand her. They stood in Harper’s bedroom as the girl kept trying to communicate. Her mother took a step forward as her arms reached out to comfort her baby when Harper’s body language changed dramatically. 

The fear and desperation were gone. A dark surliness took its place. 

“Worst. Mother. Ever.” The voices that spoke those words were otherworldly, demonic even. None of them belonged to Harper. “My God! That poor girl was asking you to help her, pleading with you to understand her and you just stand there like the useless, worthless piece of flesh that you are. Why did you even bother having her? Such a waste.” 

The girl looked in the mirror on the wall to her right. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure she dies then.” 

Lorraine grabbed her daughter’s laptop off the desk behind her and slammed it into her baby’s head. The girl dropped to the floor unconscious. Quickly, she ran to her own bedroom and, opening a drawer in her dresser, grabbed a bunch of scarves before running back to Harper’s room. She picked up her daughter’s body and placed it on the bed, tying her wrists to the bedposts and her ankles together with every last scarf.  

Then, she pulled her mobile out of the pocket of her yoga pants and made a call. “It’s Lorraine Graham. I just knocked my daughter out and tied her up on her bed. She’s not my baby anymore. Something else has taken over.” She listened to the person on the other end of the line. “Oh God. Thank you. Thank you so much.” 

Lorraine pulled the chair out from under her daughter’s desk after she hung up and sat down. She stared at the body on the bed until the doorbell rang forty minutes later. 

 

 

 

“I can’t believe you’re cooking for me.” 

Marcus watched, bottle of beer in hand, as Tomas prepared steak and kidney pie for dinner. They were in Tomas’ immaculate kitchen that was designed with a chef in mind. Stainless steel appliances, an island in the center, and a butcher’s room (complete with electric saw) and wine closet each separately adjoining the space. Tomas hummed as he diced the stewing beef, kidneys and onions at the island. He looked up at his guest, a smile on his face. 

“Why? You are my friend. I always cook for my friends. Besides, after that shock you sustained, I thought you could use a bit of comfort food.” 

Marcus smiled, slightly in awe of the man in front of him. “Is that what we are? Friends?” 

Tomas stopped dicing, knife still in hand. “Are we not?” 

He thought about it for a moment. “I suppose we are. It’s been so long since I made one, I’ve rather forgotten what it’s like.” 

The dicing resumed. “I understand. It has been quite some time since I felt comfortable enough around another person to remove my armor.” 

“Well put.” Marcus took a sip of beer. “I also can’t believe you brew your own beer. This is excellent by the way.”  

Tomas’ smile grew.  

“You are definitely an anomaly, Dr. Ortega.” 

“Marcus…” His eyes flicked up, a warning glance to match the tone of his voice. 

“Tomas.” 

A nod of head. The smile back in place. “There is plenty more where that came from,” he replied, referring to the beer. 

“Excellent.” 

The easy camaraderie surprised Marcus. He barely knew the man yet he felt at ease with him. Their conversations certainly helped. He told Tomas more in the few days they had known each other than he had told another living person ever. That was huge for him. Even Bennett and Mouse had less access to his inner life and he had known them for years. _So this is what’s it like to have a mate. I could get used to this._  

As he diced and browned the main ingredients, Tomas felt content. It was a feeling he was used to, yet this had a different texture and flavor all together. It dawned on him it was not content he was feeling but happiness. Yes. He should have figured it out before, but it was such a new sensation he simply didn’t recognize it. Glancing up from the stove, he caught Marcus’ lazy smile. He made a mental image of that lazy smile. It made him feel warm all over — the heat from the pan had nothing to do with it. 

They moved into the living room while the meat, onions and stock simmered, settling on the leather loveseat that was closer to the kitchen so Tomas could keep an eye on things. Nothing was said at first. Each took a sip from their respective beverages — beer for Marcus and red wine for Tomas — as they enjoyed the comfortable silence that enveloped them. 

Tomas broke the ice first. “Why does Rose Cooper find you so fascinating?”  

Privately, he cultivated his own list as to why Marcus Keane was so damn fascinating, but he was genuinely curious as to the reasons of a hack journalist. 

“I wish I knew. She started sniffing round the Andy Kim story early. Most likely someone tipped her off there was an exorcist in her midst and she thought she’d just post some clickbait piece.  

“I’m guessing once she realized there was an actual story to be had, she just sunk her teeth in. She started taking pap shots of me and Bennett coming and going from the church, the Kim house, _our homes_. She’s fucking relentless.”  

Marcus rubbed his eyes with his right hand as the arm rested on top of the loveseat. “I knew she was just biding her time, but I sincerely hoped she had found another sucker to obsess over.” 

He looked at Tomas, who mirrored his positioning as his left arm was atop the loveseat. “Now she’s gone and dragged you into this. I am so sorry. I should have said something.” 

“How were you to know?” He leaned in conspiratorially. "To be honest, I’m flattered. It’s not every day I find myself romantically linked to God’s husband. I fear I may be corrupting you, Marcus.” 

The priest with the close-cropped, dark blonde hair chuckled. “I fear you may be right, Tomas.” He fell silent. 

“You cannot let this woman get inside your head,” Tomas told him. 

“It’s not that.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Actually, you tell me. I know next to nothing about you.” Marcus was testing him. He was unloading a lot of baggage here and he needed some assurance this so-called “friendship” wasn’t one-sided. 

“What would you like to know?” Tomas could tell he had to start delivering on his promise of friendship or else he would lose Marcus. He would not let that happen. 

“Family?” 

“My parents are deceased. My father left when I was young and later died rather suddenly. A few years after he walked out, my mother died of pancreatic cancer. My sister, Olivia, was killed by a hit-and-run driver a week after our mother passed. After that, I was spirited away to Mexico City by my abuela with whom I spent the remainder of my formative years. I came back to the States for university and went to Loyola, the priesthood my focus. After graduation, I went back to Mexico and worked there for a few years as a priest and an exorcist. Then Gabriel happened. You basically know the rest.” 

Marcus sat there stunned. It was an incredible story. He honestly didn’t expect Tomas to tell him so much, though he wanted to know more about Gabriel. Humbled by his friend’s candor, he decided to save that story for another day. “Thank you for sharing. God put you through so much hardship and here you are, on the other side, taking what you learned and paying it forward by helping others in need. You walked away from His house yet still retain His teachings. It’s downright aspirational.” 

“It’s survival. Pure and simple. ‘Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.’” 

“I need to be taught how to fish.”  

Tomas wasn’t expecting such a confession in return. His heart raced, but he got it back under control. He was rather a good fisherman who had been wanting, praying for a chance to bring Marcus properly into his life. This wasn’t the time to get cocky. Now was for casting; throw the lure out over the water and see if this particular fish would bite. He very much hoped it would. 

“Are you being literal or metaphorical?” he asked. 

“Very much metaphorical. The idea of me fly fishing in a stream is lovely, but the reality would be farcical,” came the reply, a bemused look on his face. 

“You seem self-sufficient. Are you referring to your lack of confidence of late?” 

Marcus nodded. “I lost my connection to God when Andy died. They’re connected. Lose one, lose the other. The line snapped when that bullet put a hole in his head. Haven’t felt anything since.” 

“You will,” Tomas assured him. “I will help you.” 

The rest of the time was spent talking theology, spirituality and exorcisms. It came to light they knew a few of the same people. For a such a vast organization reaching the farthest corners of the word, the Catholic Church could feel like an elite club where most of its members knew each other or at least were aware of each other.  

When it was time to take the meat mixture off the stove, they moved back into the kitchen. The conversation continued to flow while Tomas poured the mixture into a pie dish, then rolled out the pastry and placed it over the dish. After trimming and crimping the edges using his finger and thumb, he brushed the surface of the pie with a beaten egg mixture and placed the pie in the oven.  

“How about a tour?” he offered. His spirits were high and his ego was enjoying the boost it was getting from Marcus’ presence and attention. As master of his domain, Tomas wanted to show off not only his culinary skills, but his beautiful home which he decorated; his taste was second to none.  

The circuit took precisely thirty-three minutes, which Tomas timed down to the millisecond. He knew exactly what to say about every object and room he showed his guest so as to be back in the kitchen just as the pie had finished cooking.  

He took Marcus through both floors of his townhouse, neglecting the basement because, as he phrased it: “Who hasn’t seen a basement?” The last rooms to be visited upon their return to the heart of the house were the aforementioned wine closet and butcher’s room. 

His mobile rang just as he was about to remove the pie from the oven. Marcus indicated he could do it, so Tomas handed him the potholders and took the call. 

“Hello?” 

It was Lorraine Graham.  

“Lorraine, I want you to listen to me,” he told her. “Do not take your eyes off her. If she wakes up, leave the room immediately and lock the door. My partner and I will be there soon.” 

Marcus dropped the potholders onto the island as the pie cooled on the stove. “What’s going on?” 

Tomas turned to look at him. “I need your help. Will you assist me, Father Keane?” 

 

 

 

Tomas drove out to the small, suburban Maryland town where the Graham home was located with Marcus riding shotgun. Neither said anything for the first part of the drive. Then Tomas stated his case. He explained to his new partner how the mother of his young patient had contacted him a few weeks ago seeking his professional help regarding her daughter. She had gone through some emotional upheaval of late and it was taking its toll.  

Tomas normally didn't see patients younger than sixteen, but made the exception after the woman had pleaded her case. The daughter was, indeed, in need of counseling so that was what he had provided, at first. He had tried a few different types of therapy — nothing too invasive — but nothing worked. Then, he hypnotized the girl. It was at this juncture he had realized what he was dealing with, but needed proof. The more time he spent with her, the more data he had gathered until he was satisfied he had substantial proof to validate his belief. 

“What belief?” Marcus asked. He had begun forming his own hypothesis, but wanted to hear the doctor say the words. 

“We are here.” Tomas pulled up in front of a rancher in a nice, middle-class neighborhood. The sun was beginning to set and the moon had arrived. He exited the vehicle without answering the question and started up the walk to the front door. 

Marcus scrambled out of the luxury sedan, slamming the door behind him. He stalked his way to the door, reaching it just as Tomas rang the doorbell. “You're not going to answer me?” he growled. 

Tomas glanced at him before returning his attention to the door. “You'll have your answer soon enough.” 

The door opened suddenly. A woman in her late thirties stood before them looking terrified. Lorraine Graham’s eyes were red and puffy from crying. “She's upstairs. Second door on the right.” 

The two men walked swiftly past her and up the stairs. They didn't bother knocking when they reached the room. The sight before them was familiar to them both.  

The young girl had her wrists tied to the bed as her legs were bound at the ankles. “I smell desperation and deception,” she said, many voices at once coming out of her mouth. She looked like she was decaying. “Not much of a partnership is it, Father Marcus?” 

Tomas watched the older man beside him, but said not a word. 

Marcus looked as if he had seen his past rise up to bite him in the ass.  

That's because it had. 

“Hello, Harper.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Marcus had met Harper on his first visit to the Kim house. He had excused himself to use the loo, leaving Bennett to sit with Andy and Nikki. Upon exiting the guest bathroom near the kitchen, he was approached by Shelby. The teen wanted to know if the priest would join him and the other kids outside in the backyard.  

Marcus had agreed and followed Shelby outside. Standing in the far corner of the yard were the other boys and one girl. Each of the boys had introduced himself, but the girl had remained quiet. She had tucked a piece of her red hair behind her ear and nervously looked at the man of the cloth standing in front of her. 

He gave her a bright smile. “You must be Verity.” 

Truck laughed. “That's not Verity! She doesn't even _look_ like her!” 

Shelby and Caleb told him to be quiet and smacked him on the arm, respectively. 

“I'm Harper. I'm just a friend.” 

“There's no such thing as being ‘just’ a friend. It's too important a job,” Marcus told her. This made her smile. 

“She's my best friend,” Caleb declared, which made Harper’s smile grow even more and added a tint of rose to her cheeks. 

Marcus wanted to ask the kids about Andy, but was concerned about their reaction. There were a lot of variables to consider, but he didn't know if he would have another opportunity. He took a chance. 

“How do you like Andy?” he asked. “Good father? Nice guy? Embarrasses you with his dad jokes?” 

The kids had agreed Andy was great and they loved him. Even Harper had chimed in and said he was cool. She didn't have a dad of her own, but Andy was what she thought a dad should be. There didn't seem to be any other comments forthcoming on the topic, so Marcus decided to let sleeping dogs lie. He was about to head back inside, when Shelby piped up. 

“Actually, there may be something unusual,” he suggested. 

He had Marcus’ undivided attention. “‘Unusual’ how, exactly?” 

Shelby never got to answer as Nikki poked her head out the back door. “There you are, Father Keane! We were wondering where you got to.” 

“Sorry, Nikki. We just wanted to meet a real priest,” Caleb called back. 

She laughed. “No problem!” Addressing Marcus, she added, “Father Bennett says you two have to be heading out.” Then, “Harper, your mom’s here.” 

The priest looked at the girl. “Would you mind walking with me?” 

She shook her head. “I don't mind. Bye, guys!” she said, giving a short wave as she headed inside with Marcus by her side. 

“So what grade are you in?” he asked. 

“Seventh. My favorite subject is science. I want to be Dian Fossey when I grow up,” she said proudly. 

Marcus had liked her immediately, but was an even bigger fan now. “That's very impressive! Why Dian Fossey?” 

“Because she’s loves animals. She's smart. _And_ she's the best in her field. There are other reasons, but I'm just learning about her after we watched the movie about her starring the lady from _Galaxy Quest_.” Her face glowed as she spoke. 

“Those are excellent reasons. I sincerely hope you follow in her footsteps.” 

“Oh, don't worry. I will.” 

   
 

Harper glowered at the older exorcist. “What’s the matter, Father? Disapprove of what’s become of your little chimp?” 

“Release her now, unclean spirit,” Marcus commanded. “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” 

“That shit didn’t work on me before. Whatever makes you think it’s suddenly going to take hold now?” 

Marcus was taken by surprise. He hadn’t realized there was an escaped demon walking around which he hadn’t exorcised properly. To his knowledge, it had never happened before. A thought formed, but it was too horrible to consider. It took root quickly in his mind and in his heart. He knew it to be true even as the idea sickened him. 

“You were the thing festering inside Andy Kim.” 

Demon Harper squealed with delight. “Full marks for the Old Gray Lion! Which reminds me: Who’s the hottie replacing the lemon kisser?” Its eyes quickly darted from Marcus to Tomas and back again. “Finally found yourself a cub, have you? Good for you. You deserve a good hard fuck after all the trouble I’ve caused you.” 

Tomas said nothing, his eyes on Marcus. He had barely acknowledged the demon on the bed since they had entered the room. Now he turned his attention towards it. “Esta hija de Dios no te pertenece. Libere su alma ahora!” 

A growl emanated from deep within Harper’s body. It writhed in agony as the holy water violently administered by Marcus hit her skin. At this, the multiple voices within her screamed. 

He lunged at her, taking her face in his hands. “You are _good_. You are _forgiven._ You are _redeemed._ You are _loved_.” 

The screaming resembled screeching now. As the writhing became convulsions, Marcus looked at Tomas. “We need to finish this. Are you with me?” 

Tomas nodded. “Of course. Keep up with the rituals. Do not stop, no matter what. I have another way of fighting the demon.” He shifted his gaze to Harper’s body. “Let me in if you think you can take me.” 

Marcus’ eyes widened in disbelief as Tomas’ turned all white before he fell to his knees in a catatonic state. The sanctioned exorcist snapped back to reality, focusing on the situation at hand. He began the rites of exorcism in earnest. 

 

 

 

Tomas navigated the unfamiliar house as best he could.  

It was dark with little light except what moonlight filtered in through the windows. He went through the whole of the downstairs and found nothing. When he found himself back at the stairs at the front of the house, he looked up in the event something caught his eye.  

Nothing did, so up the stairs he went. A stench so foul permeated the humid air, he nearly choked on it. Pulling out a handkerchief from the right back pocket of his trousers, he placed the cloth over his nose and mouth to block the odor from fully reaching his lungs. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He turned around, barely seeing the shape enter a room down the hall. Tomas followed it, passing different colored handprints along the way. When he got to the doorway and peered into the room, there was no one. It was a boys’ bedroom with two beds and shelves filled with dinosaurs, comic books and vinyl. A turntable was visible with its lid raised. No record was sitting on the slip mat.  

He turned and looked into the room across the hall. This one belonged to a teenager; a girl would be his guess. There were the typical music posters on the wall, but they were either female artists or female-fronted bands. Laying on a table that most likely doubled as a desk was a dog-eared copy of _The Handmaid’s Tale_ by Margaret Atwood with a few highlighters laying nearby. 

Next to the boys’ room was another room. This one was sparsely decorated. Another table doubling as a desk sat under the window next to the bed. The bookshelves were nearly full with an open Bible sitting on top. Tomas walked over to the Bible and saw chapter three, verse eleven from First Peter highlighted: “They must turn from evil and do good; they must seek peace and pursue it.”  

“Good advice,” Tomas said. “Though easier said than done in my experience.” He left the book as it was and exited the room. A hand clasped his wrist. He looked down to see Harper looking back at him. 

“Who are you? Are you real?” she asked, frightened. 

Tomas smiled. “I am very real, Harper. My name is Tomas. I am a friend of Father Marcus. Do you remember him?” 

Harper nodded. “He asked us about Andy. He was really interested when I told him what I wanted to be when I got older.” 

“I want you to tell me all about your plans once we get out of here. But first, I need you to tell me where it is. Can you tell me that, Harper?” 

Tears were forming, but she nodded. “It wants me to die so it can take my soul. But it wants you so much more. I can … feel how much it … _longs for you._ ” 

Tomas crouched down. “I won’t let it get either of us. Neither will Father Marcus. Together, he and I will send this demon back to Hell. Do you believe me?” 

A determined look hardened her normally soft features. “I believe you. What can I do?” 

“When the time comes, I want you to deliver a message to Marcus.” 

Harper turned her head away from Tomas. Her eyes were wide and she was shaking. “It’s close.” 

Tomas stood. A sly, excited grin formed at one side of his mouth. “Let it come.” 

 

 

 

Within Harper’s bedroom, anything not bolted down began to fly about the room. Books. Blu-rays. DVDs. Stuffed animals. Everything crashed into everything else. The desk slammed into the nearest wall, blocking the door so Lorraine was locked out. Marcus could hear her screaming Harper’s name and banging on the door for him to let her in. He tuned her out, focusing on the words he was reciting. The exorcism was more important than a mother’s ego.  

The full-length mirror that hung on the wall the desk had collided with now cracked, as did the windows. Marcus stayed the course as he kept checking to make sure the scarves were holding tight. By some miracle they were. He had to give Lorraine credit: The woman knew how to properly tie a knot. 

The words forming the rites of exorcism flowed from Marcus’ lips, as did the praise for Harper. The holy water did not stop despite the burn marks it was leaving on the girl’s skin. If she survived this, first- or second-degree burn marks would be the least of her concerns. He ducked at the last minute to avoid being clobbered by a copy of _The Hunger Games_ by Suzanne Collins. Suddenly he was grateful Harper owned young adult novels instead of the library of Sir David Attenborough.  

The next instant, the girl’s face was inches from his own. Her eyes wild yet pleading. She only said two words: “Finish it.” 

 

 

 

Tomas faced the demon, which took the form of a little girl. 

“That’s Grace,” Harper told him. “She was Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s daughter. She was taken a few years ago by this pervert who lived in their neighborhood.” 

“I heard about that,” he replied. “How did you _meet_ Grace?” 

Harper’s cheeks turned crimson, her eyes cast downward. “Mr. Kim introduced her to me a couple weeks before he died.” Her eyes sprung up to meet Tomas’. “I didn’t realize who she was until a few days ago. Until it was too late.” Her voice had a note of sadness in it. “There’s something else I need to confess.”  

Tomas took her hand. “What is it?” 

She motioned for him to come closer. Once he again crouched beside her, she leaned in and whispered into his ear: “I killed a boy in my class.” 

He made sure she was facing him before he spoke. “You did not kill anybody. That thing did.” 

“But I wanted something really bad to happen to him and _then it did_.” 

Tomas cast his mind back to the news stories he had read in the past day or two. He did recall seeing a piece about an incident at a school where a boy died during a lesson. “This classmate. He coughed up caterpillars and bees before having an aneurysm and dying?” 

She nodded somberly. 

“There is no way possible for you to have that kind of power,” Tomas told her gently yet firmly. “ _Grace_ took advantage of you and killed that boy. Just because you wish for something bad to happen to somebody doesn’t mean it’s your fault if it occurs. Do you understand?”  

Harper looked over at the Grace-shaped demon. “I understand.” 

“Are you willing to fight, Harper?” 

She looked back at Tomas.  

“Yes.” The steel was back; the melancholy gone. 

“Then it is not too late.” 

The girl joined Tomas as he stood and they faced Grace. “Tell me what to do.” 

He bent down and whispered in her ear: “Tell him to finish it.” 

She gave him a quick nod, disappearing into one of the bedrooms. 

“I don’t like you in my house,” Grace said when it was just the two of them. “You’re ruining my playtime with Harper.” 

“Harper is not yours. Nor will she ever be. This house is not yours. But I _will_ send you home.” 

“This _is_ my home. And Harper _will_ be mine.” 

“I thought you wanted _me_?” 

“ _You_ will be a gift. A _beautiful_ present.” 

Tomas extended his hand behind him. “It’s okay, Harper. I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

She again took his hand. 

He noticed she held an open book in her other hand. It was open to the rite of exorcism. “Follow the script.” 

She nodded. 

“Lord, have mercy,” Tomas said in a booming voice. 

“Lord, have mercy,” Harper said powerfully. 

“Christ, have mercy.” 

“Christ, have mercy.” 

“Lord, have mercy,” Marcus recited in the bedroom on the second floor of the Graham home as he held Harper’s hand in one of his and placed the other on the side of her face. 

“Lord, have mercy,” Harper repeated after Tomas. 

“Christ, hear us,” Tomas said. 

“Christ, graciously hear us,” Harper said. 

On the other side of her daughter’s door, sunk onto the floor with tears flowing down her cheeks, Lorraine said the Lord’s Prayer hoping He would hear her. She was surprised she still remembered it. It’s funny the things you remember from when you were a kid. 

“Holy Mother of God,” Marcus said. 

“Holy Virgin of virgins,” Tomas said. 

“Pray for us,” Harper pronounced. 

“Saint Michael,” Marcus recited. 

“Saint Gabriel.” Tomas’ voice was growing in volume and power as the house started to quake. 

Grace’s eyes were black. Her patience expired. “STOP IT!” she roared. 

“Pray for us,” Harper shouted. 

“St. Raphael,” Marcus said. 

“All holy angels and archangels,” Tomas shouted. 

“Pray for us.” 

“All holy orders of blessed spirits,” Marcus and Tomas said in unison. 

“Pray for us.” 

Grace was losing strength. Pieces of her melting into the floor as she struggled to overcome her deterioration. 

“I don’t want you here!” Harper shouted. “I never did! You used me and preyed on me like you did with Grace! Go back to Hell! You are banished!” 

Grace screamed. Black liquid oozed out of her eyes, mouth and the tips of her fingers. Her body contorted into unfathomable positions no human could make. Her neck snapped, forcing her head into an odd angle. 

Tomas and Marcus simultaneously launched into the Lord’s Prayer. Marcus inspired by just barely hearing Lorraine on the other side of the bedroom door. 

What was left of Grace burst into flames. 

 

 

 

“Father.” Harper was back in her body, bound on the bed in her room and staring directly into the blue eyes of Marcus. 

“Harper?” 

She was short of breath and crying. “Yes,” she managed to squeak before the tears came out in full force. 

“Oh what a brave girl you are.” He was crying, too. He didn’t know what he would have done if he had lost her. It was then he remembered his partner. “Tomas.” 

He left Harper’s side to go around to the foot of the bed, where Tomas swayed for a second after coming out of his trance-like state. Marcus caught him, keeping him upright by placing his hands on both of Tomas’ shoulders before moving them to his face. “Are you with me, Tomas?” 

Tomas closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they were clear; the hazel nearly sparkling as the light from the ceiling fan hit the irises just right. Marcus swayed just a bit at the sight. “I will always be with you, Marcus,” Tomas replied. “How is Harper?” 

“She’s fine. If you can get up, I need help moving the desk so we can let Mrs. Graham in.” 

Tomas nodded and got to his feet. Marcus went back to the bed to untie Harper from the headboard while Tomas unbound her ankles. Next, they went over to the desk. Moving it was more of a chore than they had expected; after a few minutes they finally gained enough traction to shove the desk back to where it was previously. Marcus barely had the door open when Lorraine burst through, tackling her daughter in an enormous bear hug. Harper normally would have tried to worm out of it, but now she just clung to her mother. The men watched the heartwarming scene unfold for a few seconds, but gave the women their privacy. 

Out in the hallway by the stairs, Marcus glared at Tomas. “You and I need to talk about what just happened.” 

“We will. Let us get Harper and her mother settled first. I will tell you what you want to know after.” 

His temper threatened to get the better of him, but Marcus checked it. Tomas was right. Harper and Lorraine were the priority. 

“Thank you,” Tomas said. “I couldn’t have done this without you.” 

“I have a feeling you’ve been managing quite alright without me thus far,” Marcus snapped. 

“Yes, but this was so much better, was it not? I never have felt stronger during an exorcism than here with you tonight. That is the truth.” He waited for Marcus’ reaction.  

It was a bit of a wait. 

For the second time that day, Marcus’ emotional state was in flux. Tumultuous would be the best word to describe it. He was pissed off at Tomas for almost everything: lying; continuing to perform exorcisms even though he was no longer with the Church; endangering the lives of God only knows how many with his reckless behavior. He was relieved and grateful Harper had survived the exorcism. He was still mildly paranoid there were more demons he thought he had exorcised on the loose.  

He was thankful Tomas had pulled him back into performing exorcisms; knowing he still had God on his side, as he had felt his presence during the ritual, also was a blessed relief. He also knew he agreed with Tomas’ assessment: _“I never have felt stronger during an exorcism than here with you tonight.”_  

This scared Marcus the most. He never had a partner — Bennett as backup on a rare occasion wasn’t the same thing. He had never felt the need for one. Now he could feel that need caressing him like a lover and he was willing to be seduced.  

Lorraine stepped part of the way out of Harper’s room and cleared her throat. Marcus never had been so happy to see anyone in his entire life. 

“She’d like to see you for a minute before I take her to the hospital. I just want her to be checked out. I’m sure she’s fine…” Lorraine let the sentence die out. 

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Tomas told her. “We also would feel better knowing Harper will be okay. We will be right in.” 

Lorraine smiled and nodded before stepping back into the room; the door left open. 

“Shall we?” Marcus asked. 

“After you.” 

They entered the bedroom single file, but stood side by side at the foot of her bed. Harper motioned for Marcus to come closer. Once he sat down on the mattress next to her, she carefully pushed herself up and flung her arms around Marcus’ waist, squeezing him tight. The burns from the holy water were no longer as inflamed, but he was careful not to hurt her as he returned her embrace. 

“Thank you, Father Marcus. I’ll never forget what you did for me.” When she eventually let go, she gave him a peck on the cheek. 

“You’re welcome, Monkey.” 

Even in her weakened state, her face lit up. “You remembered.” 

He smiled. “As if I could forget the next Dian Fossey.” Quietly, he told her not to hesitate getting in touch if she ever needed to talk or just felt like grabbing a cheeseburger. She told him they had a deal.  

“Hope you don’t get sick of French fries,” she whispered. 

She also hugged and thanked Tomas, who switched places with Marcus after the latter had finished talking with Harper. 

“If Marcus decides he doesn't want to be my partner, would you consider the position? I was very impressed with your fortitude in there.” 

She blushed, but was smiling. “I would consider it.” 

“Excellent,” Tomas also had a smile on his face. Marcus took it all in. 

The doorbell rang ten minutes later. Lorraine had rung for an ambulance before fetching the exorcists out in the hallway. 

“We should go, hon,” Lorraine said. 

“Do we have to? I’m fine. Seriously,” Harper whined. “Just a little tired is all.” 

There was a small grin on Lorraine’s face. “I believe you, but humor me.” 

Harper gave an exaggerated sigh. “ _Fine._ ”  

Her mom went downstairs to let in the emergency medical technicians. “Will you see us off?” 

Both men agreed. 

When the EMTs entered the room, Tomas took charge. He filled them in on Harper’s condition as they prepared her for the ambulance. The technicians took note of everything he said and carried her out on a stretcher, bringing down the wheels once they were outside on a flat surface. 

After the Graham women were on their way to the emergency room — Lorraine followed the ambulance in her car — Tomas and Marcus leaned on the side of Tomas’ car. It was after midnight. 

“A late-night fireside dinner while we talk? We still have that steak and kidney pie to eat,” Tomas offered. 

Marcus couldn’t ignore the rather loud rumble coming from his stomach. “I may eat half of it on my own.” 

Tomas chuckled. “Excellent! Although I may never know if it’s my cooking or your starvation that causes you to do so.” 

 

 

 

Back at Tomas’ townhouse, the two men tucked into the reheated steak and kidney pie while sitting in the dining room. Tomas sat across from Marcus near the head of the table, which was in front of the glass double doors. The older man took a bite of the pie and could not believe how much it reminded him of England: the good, the bad and the mostly ugly. The flavors came alive inside his mouth.  

He wasn’t sure if he ever had a meal so delicious before. Not true, he realized. The breakfast scramble Tomas brought to the house a few mornings ago when he showed up unannounced on Marcus’ doorstep had been excellent. A psychiatrist, an exorcist and a culinary genius. Tomas was the complete package — on paper, at least. If Marcus wasn’t careful, he could fall for this man who only recently entered his life. He could feel himself already careening towards the point of no return. It was time to stomp on the brakes. 

“What was that in Harper’s bedroom?” he asked sharply, putting down his fork. “Your eyes rolled back in your head and you went … where? Inside Harper’s mind? To fight the demon?” 

Tomas blotted the sides of his mouth with the cloth napkin that resided on his lap and returned it there before answering. “Yes.” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Marcus sneered. “Is that all I bloody well get?! You throw me into the middle of the fucking ocean, expecting me to swim among choppy waves and unknown predators that would happily make a meal out of me. When I ask you a question, I deserve a proper, thought-out response.” 

“You’re angry. Good,” Tomas responded calmly. “Anger is passion. Passion is the fuel that propels us in life, as well as in our relationships. Without it, we are just husks whose ashes will be blown away by the slightest wind. I’m happy we have passion so early in our relationship, Marcus. It proves we have something worth fighting for when the seas, as you put it, get choppy.” 

“Passion isn’t always a good thing, Tomas,” Marcus replied, struggling to keep his anger in check. His voice was controlled, but the fire in his eyes blazed bright. “It’s messy and hot. If you’re not careful, its flames will engulf you from within and destroy everything in its path. ‘No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.’” 

Tomas’ smile was full of pride and just a hint of affection. “A.S. Byatt. _Possession_ is a favorite novel of mine. You have excellent taste. But getting back to your original point, I did not see a reason to reveal myself earlier because I knew it was only a matter of time before I would expose my gift to you. It seems you have worked out the specifics for yourself. I thought, perhaps, it would cease after I handed in my collar. However, now I see it is from the Lord our God and I will not let it atrophy when He has seen fit to bestow it upon me.” He looked at Marcus and could see his mind churning. “You have more questions. Ask me anything.” 

“How long have you had this ability?” 

“Since just before my sister died. I was twelve, she was fourteen. I thought they were just nightmares at first. Then they started happening anytime, anywhere. I would find myself in places I had never been with people I had never met. I saw my sister’s killer, but didn’t know it until it was too late.” Tomas took a sip of wine, followed by a bite of pie. 

“That's just the beginning. I was in the seminary before I realized my visions could lead me to those possessed; to the demon itself. When I studied exorcism, I talked to one of the senior priests about my visions and together we learned what they could do. He put me out into the world to put God's gift to the best use possible.” 

Marcus’ anger had begun to ebb when Tomas mentioned his sister and now had died away completely. There was one question that remained: “Did you have a vision of Harper before Lorraine brought her to you?”  

“I did. I wasn’t aware it was about Harper at the time. Unfortunately, my visions aren’t that precise.” 

 “I’m sorry.” 

Tomas gave him a small smile. “Don’t be. However, I will be sorry if you don’t finish your plate.” 

A broad grin spread over Marcus’ features. He dug back into his slice and finished it a couple minutes later. When Tomas finished his portion, he asked if Marcus would care for seconds. The man with the dark blonde hair smiled sheepishly and admitted he would. His host was pleased and left for the kitchen only to return a couple minutes later with a steaming slice on each plate.  

As they worked their way through their second portions, Tomas spoke of what had happened inside Harper’s mind. He told Marcus everything: of Grace and what she had said about him being a gift for another, seemingly more powerful, demon; of how brave Harper was in spite of the danger to her soul; of how the girl confessed to the death of a classmate even though it was not of her doing; of how the house must have been the Kim home.  

Marcus said nothing. He asked no questions nor did he comment. He listened to every word. Tomas wanted to know what had happened in Harper’s bedroom. Marcus quipped it wasn’t nearly as sexy as what Tomas and his young companion had been through. However, he filled him in on every detail. 

Once dinner was complete, they moved to the fireplace in the living room for a cozier, more relaxed ambiance. Tomas had lit it while he waited for the second helping of steak and kidney pie to heat up. Now the room felt toasty, but not too warm. Perfect for an early spring evening where the chill hung in the air outside. The men sat in front of the fire in accent chairs, each with a tumbler of scotch in hand. A comfortable silence had developed between them. Each appreciated not having to speak to fill the void. They sat like that, almost side by side, for quite some time.  

Tomas didn’t want the evening to end. It was the most fun he had had in quite some time. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he ever had such a lovely evening with another person. Perhaps when his mother and sister were still alive. Yes, he felt sure that may have been the last time. His abuela was a good woman, but “fun” wasn’t a concept she had entirely understood. 

He looked at Marcus, appreciating how the glow of the flames lit his weathered yet handsome features. He knew his friend had seen a lot and survived much more. The scars he wore he had earned. They made him even more attractive. 

“You will stay the night. It’s very late and, quite honestly, you look exhausted.” 

Marcus pulled his eyes away from the fire with considerable effort. He had been lost in thought and found the flames hypnotic. He had been thinking about what he usually thought about these days: Andy Kim. Exorcism. God. The priesthood. Tomas. Harper was now in there, too. Other thoughts tried to permeate, but he wouldn’t allow it. It was better they stayed locked away. 

It had been a hell of day and night. The last thing he needed was to let those memories loose. He had thought about asking Tomas if he could stay the night. The couch would be more than adequate. He was exhausted and didn’t think he was up to making the drive back to Wolf Trap. Wait. What did he just hear? 

“Sorry. I didn’t catch that,” he said. 

“It’s time for bed. Finish your scotch.” Tomas stood up after downing what little of the drink was left in his glass. 

“I’m spending the night?” Marcus asked, following suit. 

“Yes. You’ll stay with me. I want to be there in case you have an episode.” 

Marcus closed his eyes, gave a low chuckle and shook his head. “Right, the sleep study.” 

“No,” Tomas replied. “This is one friend keeping an eye on another. I want to be right there should you need me.” 

This felt oddly intimate. Marcus knew he should protest, but he could barely keep his eyes open. He merely nodded. Tomas took his guest’s empty glass and deposited both tumblers into the kitchen dishwasher before he and Marcus made their way upstairs. Once inside Tomas’ bedroom, Marcus made what he perceived to be an embarrassing confession. 

“I tend to sweat profusely when I have them. I soak the bed and have to lay down a towel before climbing back in.” 

Tomas considered this. “I will get you a towel. Take off your shoes and whatever else you don’t feel comfortable sleeping in.” He left Marcus to his own devices.  

Marcus sat down on the bed and removed his boots and socks. He was good wearing his navy blue Henley and black skinny jeans while he slept. It wouldn’t be the first time he slept fully clothed in a strange place. Strange yet beautiful. It was hands down the nicest room he had ever slept in and Tomas was by far the least strange bedfellow. 

The master bedroom featured a king-sized bed that housed a bench with blue linen-blend upholstery and button tufting at the foot; a rich blue ceiling; art on the cream-colored walls with white piping; a fireplace in the wall opposite the bed; plus, a round table and two blue leather chairs on either side. 

The doctor returned with two large towels and a gift on top. “Just in case. I also brought a spare toothbrush if you would like to brush your teeth before turning in.” 

Marcus gratefully accepted the toothbrush, walking through the door Tomas pointed at in order to feel a bit more human. Once he finished in the bathroom, Tomas took care of his own business. Then it was time for them to share the bed.  

The priest climbed in under the covers first. Tomas, in pajama pants and nothing else, turned out the light before joining him. They lay next to each other, not touching. Each fell asleep at different times. Marcus almost immediately. Tomas a few minutes later; the sound of Marcus’ breathing reminded him of a metronome. He liked having this man next to him in his bed. _I could get used to this_ was the last thought he had before slumber overtook him. 

It was a relatively quiet night. Marcus started to become agitated in his sleep at one point. His jostling woke Tomas, who placed a hand on the other man’s chest and calmly whispered in his ear: “Estás a salvo ahora, mi amigo. Ningún daño vendrá a ti conmigo a tu lado.” 

Marcus’ body visibly relaxed. He rolled over onto his side so that he was facing Tomas, who settled back down under the covers and made sure to stay on his side so he was looking at Marcus’ sleeping face. He cautiously placed a hand on his friend’s face, allowing his fingers to slowly make their way back till they were cupping Marcus’ neck. Tomas’ thumb caressed his cheek very lightly. He then carefully pulled his hand away and rolled over onto his back, falling asleep again instantly. 

In the morning, just as first light broke, Marcus awoke to find himself snuggling Tomas. He was on his side, his face nestled into the space where Tomas’ neck and shoulder met; his left arm resting on Tomas’ bare chest. To both his delight and surprise, Tomas’ right hand was holding his; the other man’s arm around Marcus’ shoulders. For that glorious instant, he was happy and knew nothing of the world.  

Then it all came thundering back. 

Marcus felt the need to flee and he indulged it. He slowly pulled his hand out from under Tomas’ and eased his aching body out of bed. Exorcisms always took a lot out of him, but the toll was just as high emotionally as physically this time.  

Just like the last time.  

He was out of the bedroom and out the front door in just under seven minutes. 

Tomas opened his eyes an hour later to find the other side of the bed empty. He reached out to touch the space where Marcus had laid not long before. An emotion filled him with which he was rather familiar. It was sorrow. He wasn’t surprised his guest had left early, but it still left him with an ache he couldn’t have predicted.  

He wondered when he would next see Marcus Keane.  

_If_ was not an option. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, we have reached the end of Part One! I hope you have enjoyed it so far. Part Two will begin soon. It will have twice as many chapters as Part One. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Part 2! Unlike Part 1, this section (as well as Part 3) will have 10 chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

#  **PART 2: EVOLVE**

 

 

It had been three weeks since Marcus left Tomas’ bed. The priest had kept his distance ever since. He had thrown himself back into his life, such as it was. No more conversations in Tomas’ office. Teaching and the Church had become his focal points. He now spent most of his nights at home. The cats seemed to appreciate his presence as they tended to stay in the living room while he sat and read or worked on the next day’s lecture. It was either that or they had missed hearing his Northern Soul mixtapes, which he played on a loop.  

On the rare evenings he wasn’t keeping to himself, he was having dinner with Mouse (occasionally Bennett would join them if Mouse was feeling charitable) or hanging out with Bennett at a local bar. Marcus refused to drink in Bennett’s basement office as even _he_ found it to be too depressing. At least once a week, the Church’s middle man would make the trek out to Wolf Trap and spend an evening with his friend. (This was generally how Bennett thought of Marcus when the older man wasn’t being a total pain in his ass.) 

Tonight, the trio had united for dinner at a local restaurant near St. Peter’s since Bennett had a few things to wrap up before calling it a night. They dined al fresco since the weather had become milder and the warmth of the day was still in place. With fresh drinks in front of them and their meal orders placed, they relaxed in their seats as a light breeze danced on the air. 

“Any word on how much longer you’re stuck with us mere humans?” Marcus asked Bennett, a smirk on his face. 

“No,” was the terse reply. “Despite your apparent recovery, I still haven’t heard anything. I wonder if they’ll just leave me here to rot. I wouldn’t put it past them.” 

Bennett had made known to the appropriate parties his desire to return to Rome a couple weeks ago. Now that Marcus was in relatively good emotional health, he was ready for his life to go back to normal. He missed everything about the Eternal City, especially his job. This outpost had served its purpose. Patience was a virtue Bennett had never acquired. 

“Jesus!” Mouse exclaimed. “There _are_ worse places where you could be forgotten than in the middle of a suburb outside Washington, D.C. Why are you such a pretentious jackass?” 

“Because I deal with bureaucratic priests, annoying psychiatrists and exorcists with midlife crises every day,” he shot back with a dead stare before forming his own smirk and taking a sip of his iced tea. 

Mouse shook her head, a smile in place. Marcus laughed loudly and with much amusement. 

“So why did you stop seeing Tomas?” she asked him, abruptly changing the subject. “He says he has neither seen nor heard from you in three weeks. The day Rose Cooper’s story on the two of you was posted to be precise.” She was watching him to gauge his reaction. 

He knew better than to give her a real one. “We had a really good session right after that. I slept better than I had in awhile that night, so I just decided to put a pin in it and see how it goes. So far, so good.” There was a morsel of truth in what he said: That night with Tomas gave him his best night’s sleep in a very, very long time. This knowledge only added to his confusion. 

“You’re a moron,” Mouse told him. She wasn’t positive she believed him; yet his story was so damn plausible, she wasn’t sure she didn’t. 

“Agreed,” chimed Bennett. “You were making actual progress. Go back before you really screw it up.” 

Marcus gave a tiny shake of his head. “I haven’t decided if that’s a good idea.” He took a swig of his beer. A slight smile played on his features as if he found what he was about to say amusing, which he did. It was a private joke between him and himself. And probably God since he sees all and knows all. “I’m of two minds on the subject.” 

“Tomas is an excellent therapist, who sees great potential in you,” Mouse said. She looked pointedly at Marcus, who raised an eyebrow in response. “He told me so himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he lost a friend when you stopped showing up to your sessions.” 

“What makes you think you do?” he asked with a edge to his voice. 

Mouse took a long sip from her wine glass. She had hit a nerve. _Tread carefully,_ she told herself. _Cut the wrong wire and the bomb will detonate, leaving no survivors._ “Tomas doesn’t have friends as far as I can tell. He has acquaintances. I’ve known him for years and even he has admitted as much himself. So I guess my question to you, Marcus, is _has Tomas lost a friend?_ ” 

His mouth twitched at the word “friend.” Both Mouse and Bennett were staring at him waiting with baited breath for his answer.  

Their food arrived. 

Saved by the meal.  

After everyone had been served and their server departed, he answered. “That, like most things in my life, is to be determined.” 

 

 

 

Tomas sat quietly, his legs crossed and his arms resting on those of the chair. He had said not a word since the start of his appointment five minutes ago. The lack of a topic of conversation was not what was stopping him. It was the abundance of emotion regarding his chosen topic. He couldn’t let out everything. That would be uncouth. No, the right words were needed. He almost had it sorted. 

“ _Is_ there something in particular you would like to discuss?” asked Maria Walters. She had been his psychiatrist for some time now, recently retiring due to a personal issue. They were sitting in her living room, facing each other yet an appropriate distance apart. “I can’t imagine you just wanted to look at my face for an hour.” 

A quick, infinitesimal smile. Blink and you would have never known it had existed. “I met someone. There was a connection. It remains, but he does not.” 

“What happened to him?” 

“He walked away. One morning, he was gone.” 

“Walked away and lived to tell the tale. You’re slipping.” 

“Perhaps.” 

“You feel something for this man. This ‘connection’ runs deep.” 

“Yes.” 

“But not for him.” 

“I believe it does. The fox runs for fear of being slaughtered by the hounds. Is that not the very definition of love?” 

“You _love_ this man?” 

Did he love him? Tomas knew what he had been feeling since that morning three weeks ago. The emptiness had left him hollowed out — except for the dull ache that resided in his heart and the longing that stretched out from his soul for a phantom mate, which continued to haunt him long after its human form had absconded. 

“I miss him.” 

“You miss him the way a master misses his companion once it has run away. A good, loyal dog until someone left open the gate.” 

“He’s a cat person, actually.” 

Maria smiled. 

“Let’s hope he has nine lives then. He’ll need them.” 

At this, Tomas genuinely smiled. 

“Tell me this mystery man is not Father Marcus Keane.” 

Tomas tilted his head, asking a question with saying a word. 

“I saw the Bloodhound piece. ‘The pair is so good on paper, it gives one hope that Mister Keane officially will dump his first Husband soon and put a ring on it.’ Charming.” 

“He is. That story is not.” 

“One of the best exorcists working in the world today. An assassin. You _would_ fall for a priest with a gun.” 

“An _exorcist_ with a gun.” There was a note of pride in the correction. 

“It will never work. He is one of God’s chosen ones. They say he feels His presence; that it flows through him.” 

“It does. I never would have saved Harper Graham without him.” 

Maria wasn’t prepared for that response. The shock echoed on her face. “Then why bring him? The girl meant nothing. Another log on the fire.” 

“Because I want to see him at full strength. He was good that night at half-strength. The three of us together fighting to send that demon back to Hell was merely the first step.” 

“‘The three of us?’” 

“Harper was with me. She is a survivor. It was fate she and Marcus knew each other. Perhaps God ships him and me, after all.” 

“More likely one of his winged monkeys just has a hell of a sense of humor. She knew Andrew Kim and his family. You really didn’t know there was a connection there?” 

He allowed her words to pass without comment. 

“Marcus Keane is a liability to you,” Maria said, reverting to the original subject. “He will not understand you or your modus operandi. He will be the death of you unless you let him go … or beat him to the kill.” 

“And then what?” Tomas asked. “Eat his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti?” 

“It’s not the worst meal.” 

“If I choose to eat Marcus, it will be a decidedly more savory affair.” He had been thinking how the Father would taste since the day they met. It was only now he gave the idea a culinary bent. 

“Bon appetit,” Maria said. 

 

 

 

She sat inside the car for almost an hour knowing she needed to do this. There was so much guilt though. Not that she had done anything wrong. She had been horrified when she learned what had happened. The guilt stemmed from her association with the culprit. Now it was that person who needed help — from the very person she had nearly killed. 

Casey Rance got out and walked across the campus of St. Elizabeth’s toward the humanities building. Each step that brought her closer to her goal made her nerves more raw. She was shaking and trying to control her breathing when she reached his office. After a few seconds, she knocked. 

Marcus opened the door. “Hello, Casey.”  

He stepped aside to let her enter. The office afforded him by the college was rarely used as he preferred the openness of the classroom with its many windows. This occasion, however, he wanted as much privacy as possible.  

Casey was a sweet girl without any of the demons her older sister, Kat, seemed to harbor. He bade her no ill will. However, he wasn’t exactly pleased to hear from her. It was just in his mind, but he could have sworn he felt a twinge in his chest where the bullet had punctured the skin.  

“Please.” He offered her a chair in front of his desk. He sat next to her in the other one. “How are you? How is your family?” 

“I’m good. We’re all good, except….” 

“Kat.” 

Casey nodded. “She’s changed. To be honest, she’s been different for a long time now. Since before that night. Maybe a week or two before.” This was where her guilt reached down deep and twisted her stomach violently. She legitimately thought she would throw up. 

“Casey….” Marcus had a strong intuition that had developed over the years. Ever since his early days at home when his father would beat his mother within an inch of her life. When his instinct told him he had to end the cycle after his mother had died at the hands of his old man, he didn’t think twice about killing his father. He had trusted and honed his intuition ever since.  

Now it was telling him Katherine Rance didn’t merely go mad with feelings of betrayal when she had murdered her wife, Julia, outside the confessional at St. Peter’s one moonless night eight months ago and had shot Marcus mere inches from his heart, leaving him to bleed out on the floor. 

Casey stared at him with wide eyes and a trembling lip. In fact, it wasn’t seeing Marcus that had scared her so badly. It was admitting the truth about what she had suspected of her sister. “She’s possessed. I know it.” A beat. “Now.” 

“What makes you think this?” He desperately wished it turned out to be just a grasping-at-straws moment for the young woman. That a more medically inclined explanation had yet to present itself. 

“Her entire personality is gone. If she didn’t _look_ like my sister, I wouldn’t recognize her. She walked by our dad’s healthy rose bushes right before that night and they _died_. She’ll suddenly start talking in another language. I looked up something she said the other day and it was in _Sumerian_. Who the hell speaks that anymore?! Dogs would go crazy when she was near; like, incessant barking and growling. It didn’t matter the size of the dog. Then she would look at them and they would just go silent and run off. She won’t pray with us anymore. She would _always_ join in, even though she doesn’t really believe. No offense.” 

“None taken.” 

“Father Keane, I am _terrified_ of my sister. She was one of my best friends before this and now she just looks at me like … like…” Casey’s eyes darted around the room, desperately trying to find the words that would not come. 

“Like she could just devour you,” he finished. 

Her gaze again rested on Marcus’ face. The look she held on her own said it all. “Exactly.” 

They sat in silence, each wrestling with the implications of this revelation. Their worst nightmare was coming to light. Casey needed Marcus to do the last thing he wanted. He understood it was part of his sacred duty to save an innocent soul, but for the past eight months “innocent” was not a word that had entered his brain when he thought of Kat Rance. The irony was not lost on him. He cast his eyes skyward. His own heart was conflicted, even though he knew in his soul what he must do. 

 A silent prayer to God: _Heavenly Father, I know you sent Casey to me for a reason. I know you want me to try and save her sister, the same young woman who nearly sent me to the morgue. I trust you. Your guidance has been my salvation, but I don’t know if I have it in me to do this. Help me now, o’ Lord. Give me the strength I need to see this through. In Your name, amen._  

“I’m going to need to confer with my colleague,” he told Casey, his eyes meeting hers. “And we’re going to need permission to meet with Kat.” 

She started laughing with relief. Immediately realizing this could be misconstrued as inconsiderate, her hand flew to her mouth. Her shoulders began to shake and there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I can’t believe you’re actually going to help. I convinced myself you would be nice, but say ‘no’ and show me the door.” She was openly staring at him in awe. “But you’re not doing that. You’re — you’re really going to try and help.” 

Before he could react, Marcus found himself enveloped in a hug. After the initial shock wore off, he put his arms around Casey. She let him go after a couple minutes, tears now freely streaming down her cheeks. “Bless you,” she said. “And _thank you so much_.” 

Marcus’ heart was ready to burst. To feel such genuine emotion from another person always touched him in such deep and profound ways. He, too, had tears in his eyes, which only made Casey laugh. 

“God, we’re so emotional. What would your students say if they saw us like this?” 

“They would think we were having an affair.” 

This just made her laugh even harder. Even Marcus joined her, knowing how the thought was completely absurd. 

 

 

 

It was late afternoon. Tomas was enjoying some downtime before his next patient, a new client who claimed to be “ever so grateful” to him for finding time in his schedule to meet her. He could afford to add one or two new clients, if he saw fit.  

However, there was only one person he wanted to see waiting for him when he opened the door to the reception area, and that someone had not appeared in three weeks. Tomas had considered, more than once, driving out to either his house or the college and confront Marcus about why he had ghosted him. It amused him to use that term as Harper had said it when he had mentioned he hadn’t seen Marcus since the night of her exorcism. 

He had been seeing Harper at least once a week, with her mother’s permission of course, at the Graham house. They would sit outside in the backyard unless it rained, like last week; then they stayed in the living room. Lorraine had mentioned she would have moved if she could have afforded it. Since since she can’t, they’re stuck. Harper said it didn’t bother her that much. “It’s not like the house was haunted,” she told Tomas. “It wasn’t exactly Amityville up in here.” 

“Your mother may beg to differ,” he said, with a knowing smile. 

“Yeah, I guess.” She was a shy girl, but she felt comfortable with him. Tomas found her charming and quite smart. He was happy to hear her grades had improved since her “release.” 

“Ohmigod. You make it sound like I just got out of prison!” Her laugh was light and clear, like crystal. In that way, she reminded Tomas of his sister, Olivia. Harper was the same age as Tomas when Olivia had died. 

He could still feel the heat from the hot summer day in Chicago. The sound of her body hitting the grill and roof of the car before landing on the blacktop of the street as the vehicle drove off. Tomas had stopped to talk to a friend, not realizing Olivia had gone ahead of him and had started crossing the street. When he had heard the accident, it was too late. His life as he knew it had been ripped away from him. 

_Enough._ Tomas had lingered too long within the walls of his memory palace, a place for him to store every single remembrance he ever had. They were all in there. He had seen much in his life so far; each moment was worth remembering, regardless whether or not it brought him joy or pain or a feeling in between. It was what his mother and abuela had taught him and it was a lesson he held close to his heart. 

Now he needed to clear his head. He opened his tablet and went to the Bloodhound website. An avid reader of the site, it usually amused him to see what Rose Cooper would report on next. There had been no further stories on either him or Marcus since the last one. A few pieces did catch his eye though. In the first, a Baltimore city commissioner allegedly died during a sexual tryst gone wrong. The medical examiner had said the man died of asphyxiation, but noted the pancreas had been removed. A knowing smile tugged on his lips. 

 In the second, the body of a cellist with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra had been discovered on the stage at Symphony Hall. It had been cut open to resemble a cello. His guts (and some other people’s it had appeared) had been used as the strings. Tomas was impressed. It takes real talent and dedication to pull off such a work of art.  

Alas, there wasn’t time to read the final story. Tomas closed the tablet and placed it in the bottom drawer of his desk on the left-hand side. He got up, pulled on his suit jacket over his vest and dress shirt, and buttoned it. When he got to the door, he opened it and stepped into the waiting room. There was a woman with long, dark hair in a smart-looking, gray dress suit. 

“Ms. Stephens?” 

“Please,” she said with a smile, “call me Lara Jean.” 

Once inside the office, she took a seat in one of the chairs. “Thank you again for fitting me in. I know you have a full schedule.” 

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, sitting opposite her. “I'm happy to have had an opening. Now how may I help you, Lara Jean?” 

“Well, to be honest, you're one of three psychiatrists I'm interviewing. I just want to be thorough. I've never been in therapy before and I just want to make sure I have the right doctor.” 

“That’s very prudent of you. You should feel comfortable with whomever you choose.” 

“Exactly! I'm so happy you agree. Now may I ask you a few questions?” She removed a notepad and pen from her handbag, placing the bag on the floor by her feet. 

“Of course,” Tomas replied. “Fire away.” 

“You've written extensively on how religious beliefs can affect the mind—” 

“Are you Rose Cooper?” 

“I'm sorry?” 

“You should be. It's rude to lie to a potential therapist. Not to mention a subject of interest.” 

“Dr. Ortega—” 

“May I have your bag?” 

Rose had no idea what to do. There was no way she could give him her purse, but she also didn't know how to extricate herself from her current predicament without doing so. 

Tomas rose, walked to the couch located under the bookshelves on the landing above and sat down. He patted the spot next to him, a pleasant expression on his face. 

Rose, who was seated in the chair facing that particular wall, reluctantly and warily joined him on the couch. 

“Your bag.” It wasn't request this time. 

She sighed as she handed it over. He opened it and easily found her digital recorder. The bag didn't have much in it aside from a mobile phone, a wallet, a hairbrush and a liquid lipstick. He held up the device. 

“Does this contain the only copy of this conversation or do I need to pull out your phone, as well?” 

She shook her head. “Just that.” 

He handed the device to her. “Delete it.” 

Her eyes went from the recorder to him; a pleading look given, which had no effect. She diligently stopped the recording, then pulled up the file and deleted it. “It's done.” 

“May I see?” He held out a hand. She placed the device in it. When he was satisfied, he placed it back into her bag, closed it and handed it back to her. “I believe you know the way out, Ms. Cooper. Don't come back.” 

“How did you know? What tipped you off?” 

“Your confidence, while admirable, was out of character. Also, as a regular reader of your website, your speech gave you away.” 

Rose was stunned. She never expected those to be the reasons that tipped him off. “That's ridiculous.” 

“Doesn't make it any less true.” 

“Whatever. Look, I am a social justice reporter. I'm just doing my job. My investigation into the Andrew Kim debacle led me to you. I want to know why Marcus Keane finds you so interesting.” 

“He doesn't. Good evening, Ms. Cooper.” He stood and walked to the waiting room door, opening it. 

She walked to the door, the handbag on her shoulder. “Dr. Ortega.” 

Once Rose left, the waiting room was again empty. Tomas shut the door. 


	7. Chapter 7

Bennett met Marcus for coffee at St. Elizabeth’s the next morning. They each ordered from one of the carts near the humanities building, then walked around the campus sipping from paper cups. It was a gorgeous spring day with temperatures in the mid-seventies and not a cloud in the sky. Too bad their conversation was not as sunny. 

“Casey Rance came to see me yesterday,” Marcus said. 

“Why?” Bennett was immediately suspicious. No good could come from the sister of an unhinged murderess paying a visit to a reckless exorcist. The prefect _still_ had nightmares about Budapest — and that was more than twenty years ago. It also was why he thought of Marcus as reckless, though he conceded unorthodox might be nearer the mark. 

“She’s convinced Kat is possessed. And from what she told me, I'm inclined to agree.” 

Bennett stopped in his tracks. “You didn't tell her that.” 

Marcus also came to a halt. “No, of course not. I said that my colleague and I would need to see her.” 

A colder glare than Marcus had seen in awhile emanated from his friend. 

“I hate you.” 

“You love me,” Marcus replied. “I give your life the excitement you secretly crave while you're pushing papers in that depressing church basement office.” A sly grin complimented the mischievous glint in his eye. 

They both drank their coffees. 

“She's in a mental hospital for a reason. She killed her wife and very nearly killed you,” Bennett pointed out. 

“Nobody’s perfect. Besides, it's entirely possible a demon made her do it. And she's in the best place for her, regardless. It's a win-win.” 

“You're going to damn us all.” 

“That's entirely possible.” 

They continued walking for a few minutes when Bennett stopped again. 

“Why are you suddenly okay with doing an exorcism? Particularly _this_ exorcism? You haven't performed one in over two months.” 

Marcus closed his eyes and exhaled. “Three weeks.” 

“What?” 

“It's been three weeks since I performed my last exorcism … with Tomas.” 

“ _WHAT?!_ ” 

A flock of birds which had gathered on the grass a few yards away suddenly took flight. 

Marcus said nothing at first. He knew everything that had to be said would only cause a bigger scene and he couldn't afford that.  

Bennett struggled to control his rage. After a few minutes and walking a few feet away to regroup, he came back. “What time is your last class?” 

“Three-thirty.” 

“I'll be at your place at five-thirty. I suggest you do your best _not_ to be late.” He started to move past Marcus, but instead asked a question. “Have the night terrors returned?” 

The older priest had told his friend they had started again after the incident at the Kim house and mentioned their cessation was a big reason why he had stopped his sessions with Tomas. Now with the truth coming out about Harper’s exorcism, he told Bennett what he felt was best. “No,” he lied. 

The truth was they had returned last night more intense than ever. The truth was he wasn't ready to see Tomas. The truth was the mere thought of his therapist — his friend? — filled him with such euphoria and fear in equal measure he believed his heart may well burst. It was a dangerous combination and Marcus could feel his addiction to it growing. He could lose himself completely with Tomas if he allowed himself and part of him desperately wanted him to do so. 

Bennett finally walked away from Marcus with the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that Marcus not only was lying, but Bennett was on the verge of quite possibly losing him forever. 

 

 

 

Marcus pulled into his driveway around quarter of seven. He had been called into an impromptu staff meeting thirty minutes after his last class had ended which had lasted two hours. _God’s little joke?_ he had wondered. This would do wonders for Bennett’s mood.  

He had sent a text to his imperious friend. The reply was as follows: “JUST GET YOUR ASS HERE NOW.” Marcus had put his mobile away and sat in the driver’s seat of the truck for a few minutes in the parking lot of the college. He wasn’t exactly in a rush to get to his punishment. With Bennett as his judge and jury, castration was the most likely outcome. Death would be deemed too good for the quick-tempered, rebel priest-cum-exorcist.  

Now he could see two cars parked alongside his house. He didn’t recognize the second vehicle: a wine-colored Jeep. He climbed the front steps and had just reached the porch when Bennett opened the front and screen doors. Marcus once had given him a key and only now was the house’s owner beginning to regret the decision. Bennett stepped forward, closing the doors behind him. 

“What’s going on?” Marcus asked. 

“She just showed up,” Bennett explained, frustrated. “I tried to get rid of her, but she insisted on speaking with you. She claims she has information you should know about Dr. Ortega.” 

Marcus was about to ask who the hell was in his living room when the answer cracked opened in his brain. “You have to got to be fucking kidding me. You let that _demonseed_ into _my house_?!” 

“I think we should hear her out,” Bennett calmly replied. 

“Anything to help you build your case, eh, counselor?” Marcus snorted, moving further along the porch and away from his colleague. “Part of me didn’t want to tell you about the exorcism. ‘Don’t tell, Bennett. He’ll just overreact.’ Guess I backed the wrong horse.” 

Bennett was in Marcus’ face in two long strides, his own showing all signs of being royally pissed off. “You backed the wrong horse when you chose Tomas Ortega over the one person who has known you the longest. I know about Harper Graham. I know because _he_ told me when _you_ wouldn’t.” 

“Then you know that girl would be dead now if it weren’t for the two of us. I wouldn’t have known about her if not for him! _We_ are the reason she’s still alive. _Not_ you. _Not_ the Church. Lorraine Graham had taken her daughter to see Tomas as a patient. _He_ saw the signs. I was with him when Lorraine called that night. _God_ made sure _I_ was there for her. So don’t tell me what you know, Bennett, because from here it’s fuckall.” 

The anger within the other priest had escalated, as evidenced by the veins in his neck popping out in all their splendor. They only did that when he exerted extreme physical strength. At that moment, he was using every last ounce of that strength to keep him from beating the shit out of his friend. That was not to say he wasn’t shocked by Marcus’ outburst. He was. Very much. However, he could only process one emotion at a time right now and his fury was at a high boil. 

“ _You_ will get your ass in that house and hear what that _bloody_ woman has to say!” he hissed. “If she is of no use, then I will happily toss her out and turn my full attention on you. Now _shut_ your damn mouth and get inside.” 

Single file, they moodily entered the house. Rose Cooper, who was sitting in a chair near the window, stood when both men came inside. 

“Hello, Father Keane. I know I am the absolute last person you want to see, but I’ve been doing some research on your…,” she searched for the right word, “ _friend,_ Dr. Ortega.” 

Marcus bristled at her use of the word “friend.” Coming from her, it sounded seedy and untoward. It was not at all the way he viewed their relationship. 

“He’s not the man you think he is,” she continued. “I believe he is into a much darker line of work.” 

“Psychiatry isn’t exactly bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens,” he scoffed. 

“I’m referring to unsanctioned exorcisms and murders, where the victims’ organs are removed. Either he’s selling them on the black market or, perhaps given his renowned culinary skills, eating them.” She didn’t blink as she looked Marcus dead in the eye. She meant every word she said. She just hoped they would believe her. 

“Get the fuck out of my house. _Now._ ” 

Bennett held up a hand to Marcus’ chest. “No,” he said looking at Rose. “Let’s hear her out.” 

Rose shifted her gaze to Bennett. “Shit. You think I’m telling the truth.” 

“Aren’t you?” he replied. 

She nodded. “Considering my history with Father Keane, I just assumed I would be screaming into the void.” 

“Then why are you here?” 

“I didn’t have anything to lose.” She looked again at Marcus, who was snarling and looked as if he would start foaming at the mouth any second. “You know, for a cat person, you very much remind me of a wild dog.” 

“Ms. Cooper,” Bennett broke in before Marcus could do anything he might regret. “Now would be an excellent time to present your case. Unless you prefer I unleash this particular hound?” 

She reached down for her messenger bag, warily eyeing Marcus. She pulled out a bulging accordion folder. “I will admit that when I started down this rabbit hole I thought it was the White Rabbit I was following, not the Jabberwocky.” 

“You’re hardly Alice, your majesty,” Marcus snidely replied, elongating the first syllable of “majesty.”  

Bennett shot him a look. As with a different queen, he was not amused. 

“Regardless, I’m here because of you. I started looking into Dr. Ortega due to his connection with you. One that was facilitated by Father Bennett and Dr. Amelia Katz. It _was_ her recommendation that started all this, yes?” Rose looked from Marcus to Bennett. 

“Yes,” Bennett replied. 

“Everything was hunky dory until I looked at my photos from the Kim house. I was taking a closer look at my photos from that day when I eventually spotted something I hadn’t noticed before. I had no reason to notice it earlier. This time was different. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.” She pulled four photos out of the folder and handed them to Marcus. A satisfied look on her face, while she waited for them to catch up. 

Bennett stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him as Marcus held the photos. They both saw immediately to whom Rose was referring. 

“He wasn’t there long,” she said. “A few seconds. Four photos out of more than a hundred.” 

Time stopped for Marcus in that moment. He didn’t understand why Tomas would be at the Kim house. He couldn’t comprehend the implications of such a revelation. His brain scrambled to find a logical explanation. Perhaps Andy had been a client? It would explain how Harper ended up in Tomas’ care. That also would make it not a coincidence that Marcus ended up in that girl’s bedroom exorcising a demon.  

However, his intuition was telling him that wasn’t right. There were way too many coincidences to make that hypothesis plausible.  

Mouse. She had recommended Tomas to Bennett. Was this a long con on Tomas’ part? Mouse said he had no friends, yet there she was acting as Tomas’ advocate when it came to improving Marcus’ mental health. Perhaps. 

There was something else gnawing at him. The organs. What was it about them? The headlines on Rose’s blog came horribly into focus. Virginia Beach. D.C. Baltimore — the city commissioner, not the cellist. _Oh fuck_ , he thought. The room began to spin. He thought of the breakfast and dinner he had shared with Tomas. His gag reflex kicked in, but he knew he wouldn’t throw up. _Stop it. You’re as bad as the Puritans in “The Crucible.” This is a bloody witch hunt without actual proof._  

“You damn well better have more than a few pap shots to plead your case,” he told her. 

“Marcus is right,” Bennett said. “I will not have you condemning a man without incontrovertible proof.” 

Rose laughed sarcastically. “If I had _that_ , do you really think I would be _here_? I saw your reaction, Marcus. You made connections in that beautiful brain of yours and I’m sure I speak for Father Bennett when I say I would love to know what those connections were.” 

“Support your case or get out,” Marcus said. 

Bennett stared at his friend, wondering if Marcus would ever tell him what he was thinking.  

“The man in Virginia Beach who was tied to his bed with a bullet in his skull?” She pulled out more photos and handed them to Marcus. “A neighbor claimed she saw a man matching Dr. Ortega’s description leaving the guy’s house from the back. There was a service road nearby where he probably parked in order to come and go with little chance of being seen. Oops.” 

The photos were of the crime scene which showed the man in a white tank top and boxer shorts tied to his bed in chains with what was quite obviously a bullet hole near his left temple. Blood was all over his top and dripping down the side of his head along with some gray matter from the gunshot wound. He was underweight and ashen.  

Marcus had seen worse, but he still found the images disturbing. Especially when he considered he may actually know the person who left behind such a scene. Bennett sucked in his breath when he saw the photos. He gave no other reaction. 

“Any number of people could match Tomas’ description,” Marcus countered. 

Rose again pulled out a headshot of Tomas that looked like it was used for a license, holding it in front of their faces. “I showed the woman _this_ photo of Dr. Ortega and asked her, ‘Is this the man you saw?’ She said, ‘Yes.’” She lowered the photo. “I asked her what made her remember him. She said, ‘He was carrying a cooler, calm as could be but with a spring in his step and a song in his heart.’ But you’re right. It could have been any number of people.” 

“‘A spring in his step and a song in his heart?’” Marcus scoffed. “You’re making this up.” 

“I saw her face when she said it. She was scared. And it was _how_ she said those words that ensure I will never forget them.”  

She was serious. The truth of what she spoke was evident even to him. He changed tack. 

“It was the middle of the night. How did this woman see him?” 

“Flood light in the backyard has a motion sensor. It was triggered when he went by. Anything else, counselor?” 

Marcus had his arms folded, narrowed eyes fixed on Rose. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you care?” 

“I met with him yesterday and he knew who was I was probably before I even stepped foot in the door. If he knew about me — a woman he’s never met — imagine what he knows about you, who’s been to his house.” 

She could see she had unsettled him. _Good,_ she thought. _He needs to be unsettled._ “You are a fascinating subject, Marcus, and you make good copy. That doesn’t mean I want you dead. Besides, you are worth so much more to me alive.” 

The rage was back as Marcus’ whole head turned a rather unflattering shade of puce. 

“Don’t worry,” Rose said as she replaced the accordion folder of photos into her messenger bag and slung it over her shoulder along with her camera that had been sitting on the arm of the chair where she had been sitting. “I’ll show myself out.” 

She reached the front door, when Bennett called out to her. 

“Ms. Cooper. You’ll delete this entire conversation before you walk out that door. On _all_ of your recording devices.” 

Her posture slumped. This was just not her week. She turned around and reached into her bag, pulling out her digital recorder. 

“Show me the file,” Bennett said. 

She did. 

“Now delete it.” 

She did that, too. 

“Show me.” 

She showed him the message that said the recording had been deleted. 

“Satisfied?” 

“Once you delete the video from your camera, I will be.” A small smile was now on his face. 

She threw the recorder back in her bag and took her camera off her shoulder. Repeating the steps she just went through with the recorder, she deleted the video footage of their meeting. The two priests were smarter than she had given them credit for being. As annoyed as she was, she also respected them. Go figure. 

“Now get out.” Marcus told her.  

“Happily,” she replied, slamming the doors behind her. She backed her vehicle out of the drive a few minutes later. 

Once he was positive she was gone, Bennett turned his attention to Marcus. “You’re going to tell me everything. _Now_.” 

Marcus didn’t tell him everything. He only told him what he thought was relevant. Bennett didn’t hear about the breakfast there at the house. Nor how Tomas had found him in the truck after he had learned about Rose’s story on the two of them. Nor how Tomas had cooked for him that evening and how they had grown closer. Nor about how he had slept the best sleep in months in Tomas’ bed that night after the exorcism and a late-night supper. Nor about how despite his best efforts to keep Tomas at bay these past three weeks, he knew it was only a matter of time before he would be back in his waiting room.  

It was inevitable. 

The question was whether it was God’s plan for them to be together or Marcus’ basest desires getting the best of him. Most days, he felt the answer to both queries was yes. 


	8. Chapter 8

“How have you been, Amelia? Keeping out of trouble, I hope?”

They were sitting in Tomas’ dining room as he served eggs Florentine with a side of bacon (at Amelia’s request) that he personally cured. She surveyed her plate, fighting the urge to snap a photo with her mobile and post it on Instagram. Tomas would find it rude, no doubt, and she honestly couldn’t argue with that logic.

“First of all, you spoil me. I know you love cooking, but still…. “ The words faded as she struggled to put her feelings in order. She sighed, looking at him with unfettered appreciation. “Thank you for making this amazing meal.”

He smiled as he placed a cloth napkin on his lap. “You are quite welcome. If nothing else, I could enjoy cooking for the flattery alone.”

She laughed. “You are _quite_ the package, Tomas. I’m amazed someone hasn’t come along and snapped you up!”

A teasing grin let him know she only was partially kidding. _Someone has come along_ , he thought. _He’ll come to his senses soon enough._

“Now in answer to your question,” she continued, “I am well and doing my best to keep out of trouble.” She popped a piece of bacon into her mouth. “Can you say the same?” The teasing tone remained.

An enigmatic smile replaced the genial one as he took a bite of his eggs. For the most part, he could. There had been some straying, of course. Where was the fun in staying on the straight and narrow? The city commissioner, indeed, had been great fun. The demon which possessed the man was a particularly nasty cabron that had the local politician shooting up heroin and meeting with prostitutes — both men and women — while his wife and twin sons went about their lives none the wiser. But what really stoked Tomas’ ire was the commissioner had closed down the halfway house that was affiliated with the parish Tomas attended in order to build a Starbucks. When he entered the man’s mind and met with the demon, his plan was to strike a deal.

It was not the first time an arrangement had been made between himself and a demon. Tomas had planned on convincing it to accept another host. The research had been fruitful and a few more-than-adequate substitutes were available. Maria Walters was a very able assistant when she had the proper incentive. However, God’s sense of humor was on display that night for Tomas’ plan changed slightly when he learned an important piece of information: The commissioner had not yet accepted the demon when he closed the halfway house — he was still a regular human with free will.

So Tomas offered said deal, but with the promise he would personally see to it the man wouldn’t survive the night. The demon realized with whom it was dealing: The Chesapeake Ripper. An almost mythical figure in the underworld, he was the exorcist who cast out demons only to slaughter those hosts he deemed unworthy of being saved.

“I must say you wear that God complex well,” the fiend said. “But where’s your new partner? The Old Gray Lion didn’t approve of his young cub’s extracurriculars?” A malignant smile played on its lips. “Or was he just not receptive to your attempts at seduction? Talk about unholy!”

Tomas began the rites of exorcism on the spot. The demon’s smile never returned and after a long hard fight, it, too, was gone.

A message had been sent: Do not disrespect the Old Gray Lion and his cub.

The commissioner was demon-free, but it was time for him to pay the price for his lack of humanity. Tomas had been weakened after exorcising the demon. He also was determined.

The man had staggered into the bathroom. When he exited, a clear plastic bag appeared over his head. He couldn’t breathe; the oxygen had been sucked out when the bag had been sealed off. He clawed at the bag and at whomever was holding it closed over his head. It was a fruitless endeavor. He wasn’t at full strength either.

Once he was on his knees, close to death, he felt himself being dragged to the bed and his arms fastened to the bedposts at the wrists. His breaths were becoming shallower as he sucked in the plastic, its warmth threatening to pour down his throat. His eyes were bulging, but he wasn’t seeing anything but the veneer of the plastic. Then, shortly thereafter, the darkness took over.

After he checked the commissioner’s pulse to make sure the man was truly dead, Tomas pulled a small case out of the inside pocket of his blazer. Extracting a surgical blade, the doctor got to work removing the pancreas. Once his surgery was complete, he took the bag of ice he had stored in the man’s freezer and emptied it into the smaller cooler he had brought with him. Then he bagged the organ and placed it in the receptacle. He erased any evidence of his presence and left through the back door of the house.

“I believe I can,” he told Amelia now. “Trouble doesn’t seem to find me.”

“Marcus doesn’t seem to find you either,” she said.

“You’ve drawn blood. I must learn to keep a closer eye on you.” The tone was light, but there were storm clouds in his hazel eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just ... don’t understand him. Maybe I never did.” She picked at her bacon before taking a bite of her eggs.

“I haven’t given up hope just yet. He needs time to process what we have discussed. I have faith he will return to me of his own accord.”

“What makes you think so?” She thought back to a couple nights ago at dinner. There was something off about Marcus then. He talked a good game, but became protective when he thought she was speaking ill of Tomas. Now Tomas was behaving similarly.

He seemed surprised by her question. “Because I know him. He’s not a patient, Amelia. He’s a friend. Therefore, I believe I know him better than I would know someone who was only a client.”

It was a valid point, but there was an unknown variable niggling at her brain which she just couldn’t figure out. She knew whatever it was was going to be was as unmissable as a neon sign that flashed “IT’S SO OBVIOUS, STUPID!”

“Well, I hope you’re right. He needs you whether he admits it or not.”

Tomas could feel his heart swell. “I am right. God sent him to me for a reason: to help him find his way to the path he was intended to walk.”

“And after?” Amelia knew she was pushing her luck, but her instinct told her to keep at it.

“After, I hope to walk beside him. Be there for him when he needs me.”

_Oh my fucking God._ She had pushed alright; right on through to the truth. How had she not seen it the other night? It was so obvious now. She blamed the alcohol, but knew better. It wasn’t the alcohol to blame. It was the pair of blinders she had worn for years when it came to Marcus. As much she wanted to be over her crush on him, she never for a second thought there was a possibility of him moving on before her. Well, she got her wish. Her crush was dead.

There was only one thing left to say.

“Amen.”

 

Marcus arrived at St. Peter’s in a mood. He hadn’t been looking forward to this meeting.

The air between them had been choked with animosity and doubt ever since Rose Cooper had walked out the front door of Marcus’ house. Bennett left shortly after, telling him to be at the church the next day as soon as he could get away from the college.

Marcus did as he was told, mostly because he didn’t see a way around it. Bennett knew where he lived, where he worked, his two other friends (one of whom he got the distinct impression was persona non grata — surprisingly it wasn’t Mouse). He was screwed. So when he sat down in the pickup after he wrapped up his work for the day, he had texted Bennett he was en route.

He didn’t have the energy to walk downstairs to the office, so he entered the nave of the church and took a seat in a pew three rows from the back. He looked around, seeking guidance from a power much higher than Bennett. He closed his eyes, feeling God’s love wash over him till it seeped into his bones and touched his soul. It was a truly blessed feeling. He felt whole; restored.

_I’m so sorry, Heavenly Father, that I didn’t come sooner. I tried to bury my feelings. Then I tried to sort them, only to bury them again. I am confused. I’ve heard the stories. I don’t trust Rose Cooper, yet I believe every word she told us yesterday. I know in my gut he is guilty of these gruesome acts._

He was silent for a spell. What he needed to say scared him, but if there was anyone he could spill his heart to it was God.

_I also know in my heart that there is light within his dark soul. I miss him. Lord forgive me, but I do. I miss my friend. I ache for the intimacy we shared. The intimacy we **could** share. As always, I ask for Your guidance. I know you will show me the way. In Your name, amen._

Marcus opened his eyes. Bennett was sitting beside him.

“I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You didn’t.”

Bennett sighed. “I don’t want to be having this discussion with you.”

“Then don’t. Make it easy on yourself for once.”

“Not how I was designed.”

Marcus chuckled softly. “Nor I, my friend. Nor I.”

“I know you’re keeping things from me regarding Tomas.”

“Prove it.”

“Damn it, Marcus!” Bennett was on his feet. The pleasant demeanor was stripped away in an instant as the pain, hurt and confusion came roiling to the surface. “Why are you defending this murderer?!”

Marcus looked him, silent as the grave. Nothing needed to be said; the sharpness in his eyes said it for him.

“That’s what he is. He killed people who had been possessed and removed their organs and ATE THEM!” The last two words echoed lightly within the nave. They were the only two people in the room, making it impossible to absorb the sound.

“I probably ate them, too. So has Mouse,” Marcus calmly replied. “We’re all complicit even if we were unaware of what was happening.”

He could afford to be calm. His freak out had happened last night after Bennett had left. The steak and kidney pie he had shared with Tomas was made with _real human kidneys_. The breakfast scramble had contained some sort of human organ, he just wasn’t sure what. He didn’t want to know.

The concept he had digested parts of a human nauseated him at first. It was like someone had slipped him oxycodone instead of aspirin. He had wanted to throw up or drink himself under a table — anything to feel pure again. However, that feeling passed quicker than he had imagined. A few hours later, it wasn’t a pressing concern. He couldn’t change the fact it had happened. So he had made his peace with it.

Then another thought occurred to him and it spread like an oil slick in the ocean, contaminating every cell in his brain. _I will do it again._ The next time Tomas cooked for him, Marcus would eat every last bite and enjoy every delectable morsel. He would knowingly and willingly become a cannibal. Not everything he would eat would come from people, but it would be a higher intake than what was currently part of his diet. While this realization would destroy most people, he was distracted by the idea that his reunion with Tomas was such a foregone conclusion. He wasn’t surprised, so much as taken with the very notion.

Now Bennett was staring at him as if he had just learned Marcus had integrated with a demon. Marcus thought for a second his friend was looking a little too intensely for a second pupil in his eye.

“ _I_ am not complicit. I have never dined with that man nor will I. You need to stay away from him, Marcus. I’m sorry I ever introduced you to him.”

Marcus wasn’t sorry for the introduction. He was grateful. He may never be able to tell Bennett that, but there it was. “I know you are,” he told him. “It’s not your fault. Nor is it Mouse’s. Tomas has been very clever and discreet. We know what he has done, to a degree, but we can’t prove anything. We _are_ all complicit, Bennett. Just because you never dined with him, doesn’t mean you’re innocent. I’m sorry.”

Bennett was quiet as he absorbed the truth of the situation. He wanted to cry, he was so frustrated. But he wouldn’t. There was no point. Good was losing — correction — had lost. Tomas was the Devil as far as he was concerned. He was smoke. God how he wished Marcus had stuck to his original opinion of Dr. Ortega and never went to see him for a consultation. He was losing his best friend and he had no idea how or if he could save him.

“You’re not going to stay away from him, are you?” he asked, notes of defeat in his voice.

This time, Marcus told him the complete, unvarnished truth. “No. I can’t explain it, but it’s inevitable that I will be with him again.”

“The night terrors never went away.”

“No, they did. Then Casey Rance showed up at my door, begging me to help save her sister.” Marcus put up his hands in a “what are you going to do” motion; a sad smile for added effect.

“He’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

“You can’t save him.”

“I’m not trying to save him.” A long pause. “I want him to save _me_.”

Bennett’s face gave the appearance of being made from granite. All emotion was gone; a dead stare remained. “May God have mercy upon your soul.”

He left the nave — and Marcus — without a second look.

Marcus leaned forward, letting his arms hang over the back of the pew in front of him, and bowed his head.

It was dark when he finally left the church.

 

His mobile rang as he walked back to the truck. Marcus didn’t recognize the number at first, then remembered it had called him once before.

“Casey?” he asked, knowing what she was calling to tell him.

“Father Keane! I’m so glad I don’t have to leave a message.” She laughed nervously.

Marcus allowed a small smile to emerge upon hearing her sincerity. “You almost did. I didn’t recognize the number at first. I’m sorry I didn’t save it after our meeting the other day.”

“It’s okay! Really. So my parents and I talked to Kat’s doctor. Long story short: He agreed to allow you and your partner to visit with her. You only have, like, a half-hour. He’s worried your visit may cause her to regress. I’m sorry it’s so little time. I really pushed for an hour. My parents even tried to talk him into at least forty-five minutes.” She paused to catch her breath after rushing through what she had to say.

“It’s fine, Casey,” Marcus assured her. “To be honest, I’m surprised he allowed us to see her at all. She’s at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane?”

“She is.” She had suspected he had kept tabs on Kat to a certain degree. “Your appointment is for eleven tomorrow. Is that okay? I know you have class, but he’s a bit of a dick and wouldn’t budge on the time.”

“I’ll make it work, Casey. Will you and your family be there?” He hoped not. It was going to be hard enough getting through to Kat; even more so with the difficult doctor no doubt underfoot. The last thing he and Bennett needed were the Rance family tripping over themselves to get answers the priests couldn’t even get. Too many cooks ruin the broth and all that.

“Mom wants to be there, but Dad and I managed to convince her that we would just be in the way. Could you call us, at least, when you’re done?” She was embarrassed to even ask, since he was doing her this huge favor.

“Of course, I will. I can even stop by once I know my schedule.” He was sorry she felt she even had to ask. The embarrassment was all his. None of this was her or her family’s fault. He had vilified them all without even giving it a second thought and that was wrong of him. “Casey, I am one-hundred-percent invested in ensuring Kat gets the help she needs. If she _is_ possessed, I will do everything in my power to exorcise the demon. I’m here for you and your family.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said, the words drowning in the relief she felt.

“Call me Marcus. After all we’ve been through, I think we can dispense with the formalities.” He kept his voice light, hoping to calm her.

“Marcus, you are a very good man.” She meant it.

“I don’t know about that,” he demurred. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Goodnight, Casey.”

“Goodnight, Marcus.”

 

After he had hung up with Casey, Marcus went to pick up his date for the evening. He was the perfect gentleman: walked up to the front door and rang the bell; chatted with her mother while she finished getting ready; and opened and closed the truck door for her. Dinner was at her favorite place; no reservations required. They sat down in a double-wide red vinyl booth opposite each other. Jackets removed. Hands on the table with their menus laying in front of them.

“Ready?” he asked, eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly.

“Ready.” Her eyes narrowed to match him.

“Go!” He said and they each opened the small book that constituted a menu.

The restaurant was a fifties-themed diner that played music from the sock-hop era through the 1960s and served up a variety of dishes from burgers to wraps to chicken fingers to Sunday dinner options, such as meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy. There were a few small chains out there that had a similar gambit, but in this small Maryland burg, it was the only game in town.

Marcus smiled when he heard one of his favorite songs come out of the speakers attached at various points to where the walls met the ceiling. He sang the lyrics to James Ray’s “A Miracle” in hushed tones. Harper smiled as she watched him over the top of her menu. He caught her and she giggled. He laughed along with her.

“You have a decent voice, padre.”

“Don’t sound so surprised!” he said with mock indignation.

“But you’re full of surprises!” she said, still giggling. “What’s a girl to do?”

“Figure out what she wants to eat.”

She dropped the menu on the tabletop with a thud because she was laughing too hard to hold it properly.

Marcus put down his own menu and leaned back in the booth with a smile so big it reached his eyes. My God, how he needed this after the past couple days.

She had bounced back rather quickly from her possession. Not with next-day immediacy, but within a week-and-a-half she was laughing, smiling and had even made some new friends. He knew now how close she and Caleb had been, and how much she missed him. Harper tried not to think about him too much, she said, because she didn’t want to be Sad Girl anymore. Marcus understood her thinking more than she realized.

The waitress arrived, pad and pen in hand, to take their order. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her skull when Harper ordered the one-pound bacon cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato and raw onion. The woman gave Marcus side eye, but he had her back.

“Oh, she’ll eat it the whole thing,” he said. It was true. She had a bit of an iron deficiency in the wake of the exorcism, but she was working on getting it back on track. Her doctor had told her not to go overboard, but thus far was impressed with her results.

Marcus ordered a half-pound cheeseburger with same toppings, minus the bacon. He may have accepted certain truths in light of recent events, but he wasn’t going to actively engage in unhealthy behavior. Besides, he didn’t fancy bacon as much as some people. Mouse came to mind, which made him happy for a moment till he realized they were due for a conversation. But that was not tonight. Harper was going to get his full attention and he was more than happy to give it to her.

“Ooh! And a basket of fries and onion rings!” she excitedly added to their order. The craving for those deep-fried goodies had been haunting her all day.

“Anything to drink?” the waitress asked.

Harper looked to Marcus, who chuckled.

“Go ahead,” he told her.

She ordered a s’mores cheesecake milkshake — a large one. Marcus cast his eyes heavenward before ordering a Black Forest shake for himself — a regular-sized one. The waitress left shaking her head, but smiling.

Marcus leaned forward til his chest hit the side of the table. “Your mother is going to kill me when she hears what I let you order.”

“Girl’s gotta eat. Doctor’s orders,” she replied mischievously. “Speaking of doctors, have you seen Tomas lately?” She was busy putting away the menus at the other end of the table so she didn’t have to look at Marcus.

“Harper.” He could tell where this was going. _The Parent Trap_ wasn’t one of her favorite movies for nothing.

“He looks so sad when I mention you. He says he hasn’t seen you since you two saved me. Aren’t you friends any more?” She wasn’t trying to pry. The whole situation was curious to her. Marcus didn’t seem angry at her for bringing him up, just sad. Just like Tomas.

“We’re still friends.” He chose his words carefully. “I had some things I needed to deal with and that meant I didn’t see him as much he would have liked. I’ll see him again soon.”

“That’s what _he_ said! You guys _are_ still friends. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have the same thoughts and voice them.”

Marcus didn’t have time to have a proper reaction other than shock because their waitress returned with their shakes. The rest of the meal was blessedly uneventful. They left no crumb behind. When they were back in the truck and returning to the Graham house, Harper made an innocuous comment that made Marcus queasy.

“We should all have dinner one night — the three of us. Tomas claims to be a decent cook.”

“He’s an excellent cook,” he admitted. “We shouldn’t assume he would want to cook for us though.” Would Tomas feed a child a meal with human organs as a main ingredient? He honestly didn’t know. It’s possible he would treat it like one would when serving alcohol to a minor: You must be twenty-one years of age to consume. He couldn’t believe he was actually thinking about this.

“Don’t all great cooks like to show off their skills? He would think it was rude for him not to cook for us.”

_Fucking hell, she’s smart._ Marcus loved her for it, but he also wished she would just drop the topic. Yes, he would love to have dinner together, the three of them. Everything was just so damn complicated. “You’re right,” he said. “He would. Guess we’ll just have to ask him.”

He pulled up to the curb outside the house and shut off the engine.

“Do you think he’d make duck a l’orange?!” The excitement radiating from her only made Marcus adore her more.

“Perhaps. If you ask nicely.” He winked at her before exiting the vehicle and depositing her back into the care of her mother.


	9. Chapter 9

Tomas opened the door to his waiting room as he was leaving for the evening to find an unexpected guest waiting for him.

“Devon. It's nice to see you, but we don't have an appointment.”

The priest stood up from his chair next to the office door. “We don't. I apologize, but I was hoping I could talk with you for a few minutes.” He hastened to add, “If I'm not detaining you, that is.”

Tomas gently smiled. “Not at all.” He stood aside, back to the door, and allowed Bennett to pass through.

Inside the office, Tomas offered his guest a drink. He politely declined. Bennett spent several minutes taking in the space. It was very impressive, he had to admit. He even told Tomas as much. The doctor received the compliment as it was intended. His curiosity as to what brought Bennett here was making him rather impatient, but he never let his impatience show. 

Only one reason would drive Bennett to darken Tomas’ doorstep. He wondered how much Marcus had told his friend. _Is this an omen? Does what happens in this moment influence how soon Marcus and I will be reunited? Or does it ensure I have lost him forever?_ This last thought made him inconsolably sad. He missed his friend dearly. However, he suspected whatever brought Father Devon Bennett to him this evening was not good.

“I'm here to discuss Marcus,” Bennett said, as if reading Tomas’ thoughts. “I'm … worried about him.”

Tomas gestured for the father to take a seat in the chair nearest him as he sat in the one opposite. “How so?”

“He's stopped seeing you. His night terrors have recently returned. And he's accepted an assignment I would rather wish he had not.” He was baiting the psychiatrist. He needed to see for himself how deep was his connection to Marcus. 

After they had talked at St. Peter’s, Bennett was furious. At Marcus for his inexcusable behavior regarding the exorcism of Harper Graham and for continuing to not disclose the true nature of his relationship with Dr. Ortega. At Tomas for taking advantage of a man who was in as much distress as the troubled exorcist and exploiting him for Tomas’ nefarious personal gain. At himself for not paying closer attention after the introduction between the two had been made. 

“I had no idea his night terrors had returned though I am pleased to hear he experienced some relief.” He suspected their night together had been instrumental in easing Marcus’ distress. The lingering effects of his touch had had an influence over him Tomas had not expected, but again encouraged him to hope. Marcus made him hopeful. Each had left an imprint on the other. “This assignment is an exorcism?”

“Yes. A member of the family reached out to ask for his help.”

“I don't see a problem. It sounds very much like Marcus to help someone in need.”

Bennett hesitated. He didn't want to give Tomas too much information. He wanted to hook him, not get pulled out into the water. He decided to take the risk. “The person who is potentially possessed is the woman who shot Marcus eight months ago.”

The mask of indifference Tomas wore remained intact. “Katherine Rance. He was with her wife at the time. She was giving Confession, I believe.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Devon. Not to be obtuse, but I don’t see the issue. Unless you think it’s all a ruse so she can finish the job?”

This hadn’t occurred to Bennett. It also was rather unlikely. However, Tomas was closer to the mark than Bennett would have liked. “In a sense. I think if he helps her, which I know he will, it _will_ kill him. Whatever demon may be in her would have a field day with that knowledge.”

Tomas agreed. He wanted to be by Marcus’ side during the exorcism, but he suspected Bennett would disapprove. Together, Tomas and Marcus could banish the demon and potentially save the girl. This last part wasn’t of great importance. Whether Kat Rance lived or died made little difference; this could be what unites them once and for all. Together, they would be unstoppable.

“You will be there with him, will you not?”

“Of course.” Bennett swallowed some of the acidity that came with the acknowledgement. 

A cheshire cat grin slowly grew from Tomas’ lips. He spied cracks in the otherwise stoic facade of the priest before him. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class? Confession is good for the soul, I hear.”

Bennett snorted. “Harper Graham. You were treating that poor girl knowing she had a demon inside her and then conveniently shanghaied Marcus into performing the exorcism with you when the time was right.”

“Those are not Marcus’ words I hear. They are yours. They are also wrong,” Tomas said. “I was not aware Harper was infected when I began seeing her. Once I became aware of the possibility, I followed the procedure of the Church to the letter. Until the demon manifested itself, there was little I could do other than what was already being done. Marcus happened to be with me when I heard from Harper’s mother. It was coincidence … or fate, if you prefer. 

“I admit, I was going to bring Marcus in regardless. I thought it would be good for him to get his feet wet. Better with someone he trusted at his side to have his back should things go wrong than a lone gunman shooting up the establishment leaving no survivors in his wake. ‘Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labor.’”

‘“But He gives us more grace. That is why Scripture says: God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble.’ I’m happy you remember your studies, Dr. Ortega.” Bennett sensed the waters he had waded into were no longer as shallow as they had appeared. His opponent was standing his ground. 

In his mind’s eye, he could just see Tomas with a hand on Marcus’ shoulder, claiming ownership. The priest would not be underestimated nor would he underestimate the darkness sitting across from him. Tomas was a fallen angel not unlike Lucifer. He may have chosen to walk away from the priesthood, but his actions since speak louder than any of the manicured words that fell from his lips.

“You believe me to be a bad influence. That I am leading him down the garden path? Eve to his Adam, encouraging him to sink his teeth into my delectable fruit,” Tomas said, a taunting note in his speech. “What would you do if he came to me willingly? Would you have him sent away? Locked in a monastery until he was too old to remember he once was a great weapon in the war against evil? God’s chosen soldier reduced to a shadow that flickers when exposed to even the tiniest beam of sunlight. Would you do that to him? To your friend?”

Bennett’s breathing was becoming more labored, his stare harder. “What would you do if I did take him away from you?”

The Cheshire cat grin was a full smile now. “What _wouldn’t_ I do?”

“You’re not his friend.” There was no more hiding. In the end, the murky waters would either drown the priest or wash away his sins.

“On the contrary, Devon. I am the best friend he has. I understand him better than either you or Amelia, despite what you may tell yourselves. Have you considered the false prophet you try to warn him of, the one who comes dressed in sheep’s clothing but is inwardly a ravenous wolf, is actually you?”

At this, Bennett stood and walked to the door that led out to the waiting room. His hand on the knob, he gave Tomas one last look. “ _I see you_ ,” he said before leaving, shutting the door firmly behind him.

   


It was after midnight. A light breeze blew through the open window in the bedroom. Moonlight shone through as the curtain was not drawn. Tomas lay in bed awake; sleep not even a possibility. 

He replayed his conversation with Bennett in his head. It disturbed him Bennett could think of him as a malignant cancer in Marcus’ life. Well intentioned though he may be, there was perhaps some truth in what the priest had said. Both men had Marcus’ well-being at heart, even if they went about it in different ways. Tomas no longer wanted to feel conflicted. So he walked within his memory palace to the room where he kept his moments with Marcus. 

There he plucked out _that_ day. It’s his favorite so far. He viewed them in Marcus’ truck where Tomas had found him nearly catatonic after Rose Cooper had posted that article. Then in the kitchen. He smiled now as he saw Marcus watching him cook as he sipped his beer. The tour he had given of his home, followed by them talking on the loveseat in the living room. He marveled at how he had opened his heart more to Marcus than he had to anyone since his mother and sister. 

Skipping past the exorcism, he viewed their late-night supper and, finally, Marcus and he in this very bed. Nothing sexual had occurred between them, but knowing he had helped Marcus avoid what could have been a very bad episode was just as satisfying. 

For now. 

As he remembered placing his hand on Marcus’ face while he slept, that same hand now slid down Tomas’ bare chest and under his pajama bottoms, until he held his semi-hard cock. He stroked it once, twice; his hand sticky with precome.

His mobile rang. He turned his head towards the nightstand and with his free hand picked up the phone. Seeing who was calling, he answered straightaway.

“Marcus? What’s wrong?”

There was heavy breathing and choking sobs on the other end of the line.

“Tomas.” 

Hearing him breathe his name made Tomas’ heart seize. “I am here, Marcus. Are you okay?” He was out of bed and getting dressed.

“I’m — I’m fine. I … just …. I needed to hear your voice.”

Tomas stopped with one arm in the sleeve of his shirt. “Night terrors?”

“Doesn’t seem strong enough for what that was.” His voice was shaky. His breathing, however, was not as ragged.

After he finished pulling on and buttoning his shirt, his trousers already on, Tomas slid his feet into a pair of loafers. “I am on way to you. I should be there in an hour.”

“You’re coming here?” Marcus didn’t want him to make a fuss, but both knew that was exactly why he had called. The inevitable had happened; the breaking point reached.

“Of course. You need me.”

“I do.”

As he trotted down the stairs, he told Marcus he would leave the call connected so they could talk while he drove. Marcus told him it wasn’t necessary; just get there soon.

   


Marcus was sitting outside on the steps of his porch in a tank top and sweatpants, hugging himself, when Tomas pulled up to the house. The temperature was in the upper forties, but it felt wonderful to him. He wasn’t shivering. His skin was glistening with sweat as it dried. Tomas wanted nothing more than to escort him inside out of the brisk air, wrap him in his arms and make his inner demons cease to exist.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Tomas told him as he approached him.

“It was either this or an ice bath. This was less work.” He gave him a lopsided grin and received one in return.

The two men sat side by side on the stairs, looking up at the night sky and the luminescent orb that sat within its inky blackness.

“It must have been really bad if you called _me_. I would have thought I would be the last person you would ask for help.”

“You were the only person I thought of. The only person I wanted.”

“I’m very glad to hear it. You haven’t been out of my thoughts these past few weeks.”

“Same. I just … needed to sort things out.”

“And have you sorted things out?”

Marcus exhaled. “I thought so.”

Tomas considered this. “What happened?”

“Rose Cooper.”

“Ah. What did she have to say?”

“A few thousand words.”

Tomas looked at him curiously. Marcus’ gaze remained locked on the heavens.

“She showed us photos of you at the Kim house. She knows about the exorcisms. She suspects you of mutilating the corpses by removing the organs and eating them.”

Tomas couldn’t take his eyes of Marcus’ profile as he absorbed what the other man had just admitted. Marcus’ reaction was unexpected, but so had been everything about him. If he was nonplussed, he didn’t show it. Instead, Tomas saw he radiated calm. He needed to know what Marcus was thinking. He let his eyes wander back up to the sky. “You don't seem so concerned about such accusations. Why are you telling me this?”

“I wanted to see what would happen.”

Tomas felt an urge to laugh, but kept it to a smile.

Marcus continued. “You tipped off Andy Kim. Told him Bennett and I … what? Knew he was possessed? Were on our way to the house?”

“Yes.”

“Mouse.”

“Yes. She talks a lot when she’s nervous.” A glance at Marcus. “I am sure you are aware of this.”

There was a nod of the head.

“We were having breakfast and, knowing of my background, she said how much she hated knowing you were going to be performing an exorcism so soon after you were shot. Apparently seven months was not a long enough sabbatical.” A trace of humor had found its way into his voice.

Marcus snorted. “If she had her way, I’d give up being an exorcist and either spend my days baptizing babies or teaching. A quiet, sedentary life.”

“Not for you?”

“Not like that.”

The smile had not left Tomas’ lips, but it softened as he continued. “Once she told me the name of the poor unfortunate, I excused myself and went into another room to make the call. He really should have had an unlisted number. It might have all worked out differently.”

“We might never have met.”

Tomas tilted his head to consider this notion. “Is that what would you would prefer?”

“I would _prefer_ Andy Kim to be alive,” Marcus replied, an edge to his voice. “I would _prefer_ he had not killed his wife and daughter.” Softly, he added: “I would prefer a lot of things.”

There was silence. 

“Had you been following me?”

“No. That was Ms. Cooper’s territory. I knew only what Amelia had told me. And, of course, what I saw on the news and on Bloodhound. I never laid eyes on you until that day in Bennett’s office. However, I did manage to get over to the Kim crime scene not long after the police arrived.”

Marcus knew the answer to his next question before he asked. However, he needed to hear it. “Why did you warn him?”

A pause. “I wanted to see what would happen.”

This elicited a bitter laugh from the priest.

“Would you prefer I lie?” Tomas asked.

Finally, Marcus looked at him. “Don’t you _ever_ fucking lie to me.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

“She’s right about harvesting the organs and eating them, isn’t she?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Yes.” 

“Tell me what you dreamt about.” Tomas said, changing the subject. It must have been especially horrific for Marcus to call him after freezing him out for so long.

“Let’s go inside,” the older man said getting up. Tomas noticed his bare feet for the first time. “It’s cold out here.”

Once they were through the front door, Tomas instructed Marcus to get into bed. He looked at the psychiatrist for a long moment. A tilt of the head and a look from Tomas that Marcus intuited as “no arguments” was all it took for him to begrudgingly climb onto the towel-covered mattress. He sat up, his back resting against a pillow and legs crossed at the ankles. Tomas walked over to the sitting area in front of the bed and picked up a chair to put near the left side of the bed near Marcus. Before sitting down, he removed his jacket and laid it on the back of the chair. 

“Tell me what you dreamt about,” he said again with his right leg slung over his left knee and his hands in his lap.

Marcus really didn’t want to relive it again, let alone say it aloud. It had been horrific enough living it. Having it haunt his nightmares to the extent he felt like he was stuck in a time loop was excruciating. Yet here was this man, who was considered a demon by some, offering to take on his darkness. Isn’t that what Marcus was doing with the knowledge of Tomas’ other activities? They were in this together now. 

“The night I was shot. It always starts the same. I’m in the confessional. A woman enters on the other side and sits down. She says….”

_______________________________

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“How long has it been since your last Confession, my child?” Marcus was facing the door on his side of the confessional. The woman was doing the same on her side. Their eyes never met, only their voices intermingle.

“It has been two weeks since my last Confession,” her voice catches slightly on the date.

“It’s alright. Please continue,” he tells her.

“My marriage is crumbling. I don’t know what I can do to save it. My wife isn’t the person I fell in love with in that ballet class years ago. She’s not even the person I married. She’s changed so much. It’s not just me. Her family has noticed the difference in her. Our friends. I’ve talked with her parents and sister. They agree she needs help. I just signed the papers to have her committed.” Tears were streaming down her face. Her voice struggling to get the words out. “I _literally_ signed her life away. She’s never going to forgive me. But there was nothing else to be done. If I hadn’t, she would have hurt someone or — or — or herself.”

Marcus exhaled. He couldn’t just sit there listening to this poor young woman in anguish. His heart broke for her. “Come. Step outside.”

When they were face to face, she crumpled into his arms; her long hair obscuring her face. Her sobs echoed throughout the nave. He held her fast, saying nothing. There was nothing he could say that would assuage the guilt she felt for her perceived betrayal. A minute or two passed. 

“Julia?” asked a small voice from the direction of the pews.

He and Julia separated to see a young blonde woman standing before them.

“Kat? What are you doing here?” Fear flooded Julia’s body. This shouldn’t be happening. Where was her family? The hospital orderlies? This was all wrong.

“I followed you. I snuck out of my parents’ house. Why would you leave me there with those people? My home is with you.” Kat took a step forward as Julia took one back.

Marcus stepped forward, acting as a buffer between the couple. “Kat? I’m Father Marcus. Is there someone we can call to come get you?”

Kat looked at him incredulously. “ _She’s right there._ ” She gestured towards Julia with a nine-millimeter pistol in her hand. 

“Baby, where did you get that?” Julia asked as her anxiety levels spiked.

“My mom. She really needs to come up with a better code than my and Casey’s birthdays for the safe she keeps in her bedroom.”

“Why did you feel the need to bring the gun here, Kat?” Marcus asked calmly. “You’re safe here. No harm will come to you under this roof.”

“No _harm_?” She gave a shrill, sarcastic laugh. “She’s leaving me and she just told you why. She’s killing our two-year-old marriage. Joke’s on her though.”

The bullet tore through the vestments, piercing the skin between his left breast and shoulder. He was lying on the carpeted floor as blood pooled under him. He saw a pair of flats walk past. A puff of air felt as Julia landed on the floor a few seconds later.

Kat crouched down beside him. “Guess it’s on you both. You should’ve minded your business, lion. You don’t have to piss over everything to mark it as yours. _That’s our job._ ”

Then she was gone. He could hear the sound of sirens in the distance outside the church. 

_______________________________

“Then I wake up with a start; screaming, soaked to the bone and trying to catch my breath.” Marcus finished his recollection with a great desire to tear his eyes away from Tomas’, but found himself unable. 

Tomas watched him for a moment before speaking. He could tell Marcus wanted very much to retreat, to hide away inside himself. _This must not happen. This will not happen. I need him in the moment, otherwise I’ll lose him forever._ He knew if Marcus retreated, the spell would be broken. He was so close to his fairy-tale ending he could taste it. So far had he traveled to reach this particular moment; a moment he never knew he wanted until he met Marcus.

“You want to burrow inside yourself right now. Don’t.” He left the chair and took a seat beside Marcus on the bed, sliding his hand around the back of his neck so he was cupping it. The personal space between them was nonexistent. “Stay with me. _Ground_ yourself in this particular period of time. _Feel_ my hand on the back of your neck. _See_ me here in front of you. I am sitting on your bed. Do you sense my weight?”

“I do. I’m here.”

“Good.” Tomas stared intensely into those blue eyes. Those same baby blues stared right back. _He’s still here. I haven’t lost him. I can never lose him._

“Will you leave me? Will you drive away and let me rot in the morass of my mind?” Marcus gazed into the hazel eyes that were fixed on him. Again, he knew the answer even as he asked it. The answers to all his questions were housed in the dark-haired being with the neat beard showing hints of gray sitting opposite him. He had never felt so comforted and scared in his fifty-some years on this earth.

“Not tonight. Not ever.” Tomas rested his forehead onto Marcus’.

“Lay with me? I haven’t fully slept in months, except for that night. I’m so tired, Tomas.” He moved his head into the right crook of Tomas’ neck.

“Lo que necesite. Soy tu humilde sirviente,” he whispered into Marcus’ ear.

They slept together in the bed, Tomas spooning Marcus with one arm wrapped around him. The cats, Winston and Buster, rested on the floor of the living room, keeping watch over the men. It was a quiet night. They didn’t move until the alarm on Marcus’ night stand roused them. Even then, they soaked in the final moments of peace and solitude within their bubble before it was inevitably burst by reality.

It was time for Marcus to see Kat Rance.


	10. Chapter 10

They drove separately to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Tomas had left early in order to stop at home for a shower and a quick change. For him that meant one of his immaculately tailored three-piece suits that cost more than any one thing Marcus owned, including himself. Marcus, meanwhile, stuck with the basics and wore his cleric uniform. Bennett was waiting outside the main entrance, dressed similarly to Marcus. His usual stoic demeanor became downright icy when he saw his friend was not alone. He looked from one man to the other as they came up the walk. 

Marcus was relieved to see his old friend. After last night, he wasn’t convinced Bennett would come, despite the curt response he had received to his text. Hurt and anger were still evident in his colleague’s body language. The cold look in his eyes also was a major tipoff. 

“You came.” His features soft as he hoped Bennett would accept this interview as an olive branch.

“I told you I would,” his tone warmer than belied his attitude. However, he reverted to a cooler tone when he looked at Tomas and added: “I always keep my promises.”

A bemused Tomas couldn’t help himself. “As do I. It’s a very good policy.”

This was already taking a turn that would be of little use to them. Marcus suggested they head inside to meet the general administrator, who also was Kat’s doctor. He managed to shepherd them inside without blood being drawn. The trio made their way to the administrator’s office after checking in with the receptionist in the lobby. 

Marcus knocked on the door. A minute later it was opened by a man dressed in a more affordable three-piece suit with dark hair. He was clean-shaven and an inch shorter than Tomas, much to their host’s chagrin. He exuded a pomposity to which his guests took an instant dislike.

“Father Keane and … friends.” He clearly was unhappy with the number of their party. “Please, come in.”

The trio shuffled into the room as the man shut the door. “I’m Dr. Frederick Chilton, the general administrator here at BSHCI. I’m also, as you may be aware, Katherine Rance’s psychiatrist. Now, who are you?”

Marcus introduced himself and his associates. Chilton offered them a place to sit. The priests took the chairs in front of Chilton’s desk, while Tomas took a seat on the couch behind Marcus and Bennett which faced the wall.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Dr. Ortega. I wasn’t expecting so many of you.” Chilton wasn’t sorry. In fact, he took great pleasure in ostracizing his peer. Tomas’ reputation preceded him. The smug look on Father Bennett’s face didn’t escape his attention. Nor did it escape Tomas’.

“No need to apologize,” the bearded psychiatrist said. “I am the interloper here. The couch is more than acceptable. Thank you.” Polite to the bitter end, Tomas had no intention of ceding power to someone as inferior as Frederick Chilton. From his demeanor to his education to his wardrobe, everything about the administrator screamed “wannabe.” He wanted to be included; wanted to be seen; wanted to be _acknowledged_. Tomas had no intention of giving him what he so clearly desired. Unless he desired death. _That could be arranged_ , a slow smile sparking on his lips.

Chilton smiled at Tomas in return, but in actuality, it was more of a grimace. My God he hated that man. If he was honest, which he rarely was unless he had no other recourse, he envied Tomas. To possess that amount of self-satisfaction must be otherworldly. Add to it his devilish good looks, sexy Latin accent and a wardrobe Chilton would sell his soul for and it’s hard to begrudge the man his jealousy.

“Now,” Chilton said as he sat down behind his large (though smaller than Tomas’) desk. “Katherine Rance. I appreciate your indulging the family, but I must say I don't see the point of your being here. Katherine is a troubled young woman with an addled mind. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Marcus shifted in his seat. Casey had been right: Chilton _was_ a dick. “‘A troubled young woman with an addled mind’ is ordinary?” he asked, a sharp edge creeping into his voice.

“For this place, yes.” Chilton tried to strike a reverential tone. He failed. “I see it all the time. Not just with young women, mind you. I have one man who believes he's here because his psychiatrist, of all people, set him up not only for the murder of a young woman, but also a series of murders that have taken place in the area.” He laughed heartily until he read the room. Abruptly collecting himself, even going so far as to clear his throat, he added: “The man is clearly delusional. No more possessed by the Devil than Ms. Rance.”

“We don't believe Kat is possessed by the Devil, Dr. Chilton,” Bennett said.

Chilton smiled. “I should hope not.”

“A demon is much more likely.”

Chilton froze in his seat; his smile still in place, but his eyes were wider. _They're not joking. Oh dear Lord in merciful Heaven, they really think she's possessed by a demon. I could try to have them committed, but Dr. Ortega would never allow it. He'd have them out so fast, it wouldn't be worth the effort._

The trio smiled back, all of them enjoying the effect their presence was having on their host.

“We would like to see Kat now, please,” Marcus said. It wasn't a request.

“Fifteen minutes. Nothing more.” Chilton stood. He wanted these interlopers gone. They would just upset the delicate balance he strived to maintain. He escorted them down the hall to the rear staircase. A man in his late thirties with curly brown hair and wearing a green hospital onesie, which resembled a prison uniform, shuffled past them with three orderlies flanking him.

“Patient of yours?” Marcus asked Tomas.

“No, but I do like the look of him,” he replied as he watched the man be escorted out the side door. When he looked at Marcus after the man disappeared, Tomas grinned. “Tell me you don't want to meet his psychiatrist,” he said before winking at Marcus.

“I wonder if I already have,” he said with the arch of an eyebrow before climbing the stairs to catch up with Bennett and Chilton.

   


Amelia sat at a table in front of the window inside her favorite coffee shop in Georgetown. It was a popular local haunt she had been frequenting for years. She knew the staff, how to order off the secret menu (Starbucks didn’t invent that that gimmick) and when was the best time to get a good table. This was the part of her day she enjoyed the most. This hour where she was beholden to no one; her schedule forgotten. Occasionally, she looked out the window to people watch for a bit or joined a conversation with the staff. 

Avoiding her phone was part of the process, but she allowed herself ten minutes to look at the news; longer if there was a particular story that grabbed her attention. She was drinking her special brew and checking the headlines when someone sat down opposite her. Looking up from her mobile, she found an Asian woman with long dark hair staring at her expectantly. 

“Can I help you?” she asked warily, grasing her cup in case she needed to throw the hot beverage in this stranger’s face before she made a run for it.

“I’m here to help _you_ , Dr. Katz.”

“Sorry?”

“Marcus Keane is getting into bed with the Devil. I thought you might like to know.”

“I’m sorry. _What?_ Who _are_ you?”

The woman extended a hand. “Rose Cooper, Bloodhound. It’s a crime blog—”

“I know who you are.” Amelia gave her an icy stare, ignoring the hand in front of her.

Rose put her hand in her lap. “My reputation precedes me, I see.” A short silence followed. “What I said is true, if not literally.”

Amelia crossed her arms over her chest. “So who is this metaphorical Devil who has Marcus in his bed?”

“Tomas Ortega.”

“Get the fuck out of here now before I do something I may not regret.” Amelia extended her arm as she pointed toward the door of the shop.

Rose put up her hands. “Hear me out. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t concerned.”

“About where your next byline will come from.”

She smiled. “Touché.”

The psychologist was not amused; at least not physically. Her face remained impassive, but inside she allowed for a small smile. She lowered her arm and placed it her lap.

“To be honest, this isn’t a story yet.”

“And there it is.”

Rose laughed. She had heard stories about Amelia Katz — all good things, of course. However, she never expected such a spitfire. Despite her previous reservations about ambushing her, the reporter was very happy she had.

Amelia couldn’t help it, she smiled when she heard the other woman’s laugh. _Dear God, am I actually enjoying this wretched woman’s company?_ Aloud she said, “You have five minutes.”

“Dr. Ortega isn’t the man you believe he is. He is much darker and more deadly than you can imagine. He’s still performing exorcisms and then mutilating the corpses of those who don’t survive. Those chosen ones are executed by him.” Rose gave it a moment to let what she said sink in with her new friend. “You _did_ know he was an exorcist with the Catholic Church while he was in Mexico.”

Amelia gave a slow nod, her past two meals with Tomas echoing in her mind as her eyes found the table. His choice of words. The expression on his face when Marcus’ name was mentioned. The bacon. Why was she suddenly — _Ohmigod._ Her eyes flew up to meet Rose’s. A horrified expression had etched itself onto the doctor’s face as she saw the somber look on her companion’s. She swallowed. Her mouth arid as the desert.

Rose walked over to the counter to buy a bottle of water. She removed the cap and placed it on the table. “Drink,” she ordered.

Amelia put the bottle to her lips and didn’t stop till half of the water was gone. She didn’t put the bottle down right away, leaving it perched at her mouth. Rose eventually pulled it away from her and replaced the cap. Amelia was breathing heavily as she processed everything. After a few minutes, she was finally ready to speak.

“The mutilations. He’s removing organs?”

Rose nodded. “I believe so, yes.”

“And eating them?”

Another nod.

“He’s still performing exorcisms even though he’s no longer a priest. And what? Marcus is his sidekick?”

“I feel ‘willing accomplice’ is more appropriate. Or ‘bae’. Whichever you prefer really.”

“How about neither?” she snapped. Amelia was feeling queasy. A glance at her coffee, the very thought of which had filled her with such warm delight not a few minutes ago, now made her want to throw up. It’s sweet bitterness too ironic to digest properly or willingly. 

“You’re in love with Marcus.” It was said softly, delicately. Rose genuinely felt bad, which surprised her. Everything about this meeting had surprised her. She couldn’t deploy her usual shock and awe tactics. This made Amelia Katz an even more fascinating subject to her. “How deep?”

Amelia took another swig of water from the bottle after fumbling the removal of the cap. “Shallow end. Now I’m officially ready to climb out of the pool.” A small smile to acknowledge how idiotic it all was. “I had been further in not long ago, I admit. I splashed around but, thankfully, never dove into the deep end.”

“Good,” Rose said firmly. “You deserve someone who will acknowledge and appreciate you. I get the feeling that person was never Marcus Keane.”

The woman across from her with her own mane of black hair pinned back at the temples shook her head. “Never like that, no. The weird thing is, I don’t think I ever wanted him to think of me in that way. It was just a schoolgirl crush that went on far too long. Had he ever kissed me, I would have evaporated. That’s not healthy.”

“Kinda like his relationship with Tomas.”

“Dispensing with the formalities so soon?” Amelia teased.

Rose appreciated the humor, but there was none to be had in the subject at hand. “We’re about to dive into the deep end, Amelia. Formalities are the least of my concerns. Survival, however, is foremost.”

The smile on the psychologist’s faced was erased. Her brown eyes narrowed. “I need to know everything you know about this. I won’t go back out there without that knowledge. I can’t afford it. To further the water analogy, if what you’re saying is the gospel truth, he is a shark just waiting for the first scent of blood.”

“Where are _we_?” Rose asked warily, knowing she wasn’t going to like the answer.

Amelia laughed, but it was devoid of any warmth. She leaned forward, cool steel engulfing her words.

“We’re playing naked in a paddling pool.”

   


Chilton walked the men down the long hallway toward Kat’s room. He and Bennett had been chatting amicably when Marcus and Tomas caught up with them. Bennett cast a cursory backwards glance as he heard them approach — first at Marcus, where worry clouded his features and filled his eyes; then at Tomas, where the concern calcified into loathing. 

He was again warning Tomas to back off, but his silent reproach was ignored; brushed aside as if it were merely a piece of lint on his coat as opposed to the more serious threat it was intended to be. Tomas was most amused and not afraid to show it. Bennett turned back to face the corridor in front of them, even more determined to free his friend from this man’s influence.

“So good of you to join us, gentlemen.” Chilton was oblivious to the tension that was running rampant in his little quartet. “Hope we aren’t distracting you from anything too important.” He gave a knowing half-smile to Bennett, who half-heartedly reciprocated the gesture of familiarity. 

“Not at all, Frederick,” Tomas replied with a song in his heart and a spring in his step. First Bennett, now Chilton. This trip may be fun, after all. “Just admiring your hospital. It seems to be very well run. Very efficient.”

This last comment troubled Chilton, but he couldn’t work out why. “Efficient? Um, yes. H-how do you mean?”

Bennett thought the administrator had taken on the appearance of a deer in headlights right before the vehicle plowed into the poor senseless creature. Marcus looked elsewhere — anywhere, really — except toward Tomas and Chilton. If he did, he wouldn’t be responsible for the very loud cackle that would undoubtedly erupt from very deep within him.

“Well, to start, you don’t have the patients roaming the halls. I have read some hospitals find it beneficial for their clients to mingle throughout the property. Stimulates the brain and keeps the social skills sharp, they say. Also, it apparently makes for a more productive therapy. However, you’re approach also is effective: Remove the more troublesome patients in chains before there’s a coup. After all, you wouldn’t want a Randle Patrick McMurphy on your hands, bringing chaos to your orderly and efficient institution.”

The coloring of Chilton’s face was now distorted, taking on an almost sunburned quality. However, he kept his temper very well in check without missing a literal step. “No, I would not,” was all he said on the matter. He came to a stop a few paces later. The name on the wall to the right of the door read “Rance, K.” They had arrived.

“Again, I am voicing my opposition to this visit,” Chilton said. “I believe it will only hinder Ms. Rance’s progress and possibly set her back.”

“So there has been progress with Kat?” Marcus asked dubiously. He didn’t think Chilton could cure a cold let alone someone with either mental and/or emotional problems. 

“Incremental, but progress nonetheless.” The administrator was defensive. However, he wasn’t about to allow the scruffy priest and his cohorts attack him on his home turf. He had way too much pride for that.

“Thank you, doctor,” Bennett interjected. “We’ll take it from here and come find you when we are done.” His firm tone and laser-focused gaze on Chilton elicited neither arguments nor rebuttals.

“Fifteen minutes,” Chilton reiterated. “I will send in reinforcements if you are not on this side of the door at that time.” He walked away with a satisfied look on his face.

“Shall we?” Marcus asked rhetorically as he opened the door to Kat’s room.

She was sitting in an armchair by the window, facing it as if she was looking out the pane of glass, while curled up with her feet under her.

“Three of you for fifteen minutes? Christ Almighty, you are thirsty boys. Seriously, I’m flattered.” She twisted her head to look at them. The rest of her body stood still.  “But you’re totally not my type.”

“We want to talk with Kat,” Marcus demanded. He had seen that trick before, but still it repulsed him as it did the others.

“We all want what we can’t have,” she said with a wink as she turned the rest of herself round in the chair. “Well, maybe _you_ can.”

“What do _you_ want?” Bennett asked, trying desperately not to think about the connotations of that last remark.

“Your souls would be great, but I’m not holding my breath. So how about you just let me keep hanging out with my friend and you all fuck off?”

“How long have you and Kat been together?” Tomas asked.

She smiled broadly. “Almost a year. It’s my longest relationship.” She said the last part _sotto voce_. “We’re hoping to be married soon. It will be a most _unholy_ union.”

“How did you meet?” Marcus asked, following Tomas’ lead.

“How the hell did _you_ meet?” she replied, nodding her head at Tomas. _Nice job!_ she mouthed silently to Marcus. “Honestly, I think getting shot was the best thing that could have happened to you. It got you that _hot_ piece of ass, which is obviously doing wonders for you. Seriously, you look _fantastic_.” To Tomas, she added, “You’re lucky. He’s one of the good ones. Treat him well.”

“We don’t have time for this!” Bennett shouted.

“No, you don’t,” Kat agreed. “So let me speed this up for you. I am not Kat. Kat is away right now and can’t come to the phone — not that she necessarily would. I speak every language ever written and even a few that never were. You will never know my name because your stupid human mouths could never pronounce it and your fingers are too weak to even write it out. Don’t even get me started on the spelling. Kat belongs to me and I will only let her go upon her death. Any questions?”

“What makes you think you can’t die?” Marcus could smell the pride rolling off her like a bad perfume. _Pride goeth before a fall._ He wasn’t scared of this demon. He was confident he could take it down, and free Kat once and for all. Assuming that was what she even wanted. He needed to talk to Kat. However, he was willing to proceed without a conversation. 

Tomas watched him and felt pride of his own swelling in his chest. His lion was standing up and beginning to pace, the need to attack vibrating off him. He knew Bennett could see this, as well. Marcus’ restored confidence was an aphrodisiac to Tomas. Lust swelled in his breast alongside another more meaningful emotion. He was nearly giddy with anticipation at the mere thought of hearing his lion roar.

Bennett could see the old Marcus taking shape before him. He felt a groundswell of mixed emotions. This is what they had been working for, but he also knew it was in great part to Tomas. This was the only good thing his appearance in their lives had brought. This was probably the last good thing it would bring. For what he saw when he thought of the future was pain, destruction, tears, anger, humiliation and blood.

“I can’t die because I don’t want to,” the demon inside Kat replied. “And I _always_ get what I want. Now get the fuck out of my room. The last thing I need is for that impotent quack to stick his nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

Thus endeth the interview of Kat Rance.


	11. Chapter 11

Chilton was just walking up the hallway to Kat’s room when he saw the three men huddled outside her door. He wore a smug grin as he strode up to them. It was hard to hide, so he didn’t bother. Every last word uttered in that room had been heard by him inside his office downstairs. The entire hospital was wired for sound — minus the privacy rooms, which he couldn’t touch for legal reasons. 

“That was quicker than even _I_ anticipated. However, I am pleased you stayed within your time. Shall I walk you out?”

The trio followed Chilton down the hall in silence. They descended the main staircase this time, which dropped them back off at the front door.

“I imagine this is not the outcome you had hoped for,” Chilton said. “It’s so _easy_ to see demons everywhere in these dark times. Unfortunately, not every patient can be cured by a mere exorcism.”

Marcus bristled at the phrasing. No exorcism was “mere.” It was hard, exhausting, dangerous work. The exact type of labor this condescending little twat had never experienced, _will_ never experience. He felt a hand on his right shoulder. 

Tomas’ touch had a calming influence, as usual. Marcus marveled at the effect this man, with whom he felt such a connection yet still felt he barely knew, could have on him. It had happened so many times in such a short period, he feared he may start taking it for granted. He knew that was one thing he could not let happen. Whatever this was with Tomas may be short-lived or may be forever. Nevertheless, it was a mystery he wasn’t ready to solve just yet.

Bennett saw Tomas put his hand on Marcus’ shoulder just as he had seen in his mind’s eye the night before in Tomas’ office. This was as bad as he had feared. It also confirmed separating the two would be damn near impossible. He wasn’t giving up. Determination had him setting his jaw and hardening his resolve. Between the Bermuda triangle of Tomas, Chilton and Kat, this had been an inauspicious start to his day. He prayed it would only get better, but experience had taught him to temper his expectations.

“Your poor choice in words only proves you don’t how how to treat Kat. I believe I speak for my colleagues when I say we will be back. _And soon_ ,” Tomas told Chilton. He was daring the egotistical shrink to dance with him. The visit with Kat had put him in an even more devilish mood.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Chilton replied, accepting the invitation. “My hospital, my rules.”

“I believe it’s the State of Maryland’s hospital, not yours. How happy would your board be should they learn you had this place bugged? How happy would your patients’ families be should they find out?”

No response was uttered. The stiff pose and the slightly bulging eyes said it all.

Tomas smiled. “As I suspected. We will be in touch. Good day, Frederick.”

The trio left a simmering Chilton standing in the front entrance hall. Marcus caught Tomas’ eye, both smiling as they exited. Even Bennett had to admit that was pretty badass.

   


“You seem rather pleased with yourself. What’s changed since our last session?” 

Maria Walters sat across from Tomas in her living room, which she again set up as a makeshift office for her sole client since she closed her actual one. It was hard to miss the exuberance, the pure joy that radiated off him. It also didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who had brought such unmitigated pleasure to his being. 

This was not good. This was dangerous. She had to tread carefully lest she wanted to be on his menu in the coming days. No doubt he could fake a possession and then take from her as he liked. He knew enough on the topic to warrant suspicion from the right people should those people be woke to the possibility. A tiny imperceptible smile hit her lips. 

Nearly imperceptible.

“You had just a rather pleasing thought yourself. I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” Tomas said with a glint in his eye she couldn’t place.

“This is not a quid pro quo. If you don’t wish to share, we can sit here for the rest of the hour or you can walk out the door.”

The mask was on. She couldn’t read him anymore than she could read Sanskrit. _Tread carefully, Maria._ Too bad she loved a challenge. Especially when that challenge was Tomas Ortega. It wasn’t sexual, her fascination. Not fully. There was always a percentage of sexual attraction. This time that percentage was rather low. 

No, the psychology was what drew her to him. What made her agree to keep him as her sole patient after her husband, George, had died. A sharp intake of breath at the memory. Yes, her husband was dead. Tomas Ortega hadn’t been able (willing?) to save him. She had been culpable. She was aware of this. Her fascination (obsession?) with Tomas and his abilities blinded her to the reality of the situation. Once she understood, it had been too late. George and the demon within were gone. 

“This is what you wanted, Maria,” the psychiatrist-cum-exorcist had said at the time. It was and it wasn’t. Not that that mattered anymore. It was done. She and her husband both had served on various committees, including one with the Archdiocese of Baltimore. Her influence and connections were of great use to Tomas. Maria was quite useful when it came to helping him decide whom to exorcise properly and whom should fall victim to an unforeseen fate. However, sometimes, you just have to follow your gut. She hated it when he went off-script. Like now.

She waited for his decision. 

“Marcus Keane has found his way back to me. It’s been a very … interesting twenty-four hours.” His smile was genuine; it lit his entire face, reaching his hazel eyes.

“This is an interesting look for you. However, I can’t help but notice you’re looking a bit sunburned. Shall I start calling you Icarus?”

He chuckled. “I tend to favor the moon.”

“So do werewolves.” She was pushing her luck. The subject of Marcus Keane did that to her. The idea of them united in any way made her ill. 

The smile was still there, but now lust was mixed with the joy. He had never thought of them as werewolves. _What a beautiful notion_. His mind flickered back to this morning at the hospital. A fantasy of Marcus ripping out Chilton’s throat with his bare teeth gave him immense sensual gratification. His right leg was crossed over his left knee. All the better to conceal the massive erection he was sporting. 

“Your jealousy is showing, Maria. It’s not attractive.”

“Next to Marcus Keane, I suspect little is,” she said. Then, she changed tactics. “Be careful there, Tomas. You may think your hunting him like the wolves you so plainly admire, but you could just as easily become the hunted. You never truly know where a cat’s loyalty lies. The bigger the feline, the sharper its claws.”

He considered this for a moment. “For a second, I almost thought you cared,” he told her.

She gave him a sad smile. “For a second, I almost did.”

   


Marcus and Bennett were sitting on the years-old couch in Bennett’s basement office at St. Peter’s. They were processing the morning’s encounter with Kat. It was several minutes before either spoke. Neither wanted to break the silence, but a plan had to be formulated. Bennett spoke first.

“I scheduled a meeting with us and Bishop Egan for this afternoon.” He acknowledged the incredulous look on Marcus’ face. “He has a right to know and if we’re doing this, he needs to be made aware.”

“You’re such a bloody Boy Scout.”

“What would you know about it? All you do is buy the damn cookies.”

Marcus smirked. “Those girls do make a fine cookie.”

Bennett rolled his eyes even as a smile played on his lips. 

“We need a plan for Kat,” Marcus said. “I’m doing this with or without the bishop’s approval. I can’t stand aside and allow that demon to integrate with her.”

The “we” did not go unnoticed by the other priest nor was it commented upon. “We won’t let that happen. Egan’s going to be a hard sell. We barely got him to agree to Andy. How soon do you want to go back for Kat?”

“Tomorrow.” 

“I figured. Just the two of us or will Tomas be joining us?” He kept his voice on an even keel. Marcus wasn’t fooled.

“I want him there, Bennett. He’s an asset. Trust me.” As much as he wanted his friend to know the truth about Tomas’ gift, he still knew it wasn’t his place to reveal it. Bennett would find out soon enough.

“I do trust _you_ , Marcus.” Bennett had no intention of abandoning him now. “So what’s the plan?”

“You mean besides tying her down and performing the rites? No idea.” He remembered something. “I need to call Casey. I promised I would after we saw Kat.”

“Go. The meeting is at 2.”

   


Marcus left to make the call outside. The overcast skies, which threatened rain, seemed appropriately gloomy. Casey picked up on the first ring.

“Marcus? You saw her?”

“I saw her, Casey. You were right. She’s not your sister. Hasn’t been for nearly a year.”

A muffled sob came through crystal clear. It broke Marcus’ heart. He said a silent prayer for the Rance family as Casey pulled herself together. After he finished, he recognized how grateful he was not to be in a classroom right now. 

Bennett had had the foresight to let the college know Marcus wouldn’t be available today due to a situation concerning the Church. The dean had understood this was code for exorcism-related duties. When Marcus had been offered his position at the school, it was stipulated in his contract he would be excused to execute his exorcist duties with no questions asked for as long as was necessary. In fact, the dean was quite proud to have an actual exorcist on her staff. Her favorite uncle had been one before lung cancer killed him. 

Casey let out a breath. “I’m sorry about that. I just needed a moment.”

“Never apologize for caring about your family.”

“I won’t,” she said. “What’s next? An exorcism?”

“Yes. I’m working out the specifics with Father Bennett now. We’re going back tomorrow. This has waited too long as is. I want to avoid her spending any more time with that thing inside her than is necessary.”

“Why not do it tonight? The sooner the better, right?”

“You were also right about Dr. Chilton.”

“Fucking dillhole.”

Marcus chuckled. “That about covers it.”

Casey laughed in spite of herself. “I warned you.”

“Yes, you did. We kicked up a bit of dust while we were there, so I think it’s best if we let it settle before going back in there guns blazing.”

“Whatever you think is best,” she said. “We have complete faith in you.”

Marcus exhaled. “No pressure then.”

“Oh no, there’s tons of pressure. _All_ the pressure actually.”

“ _Casey_ …” he warned.

“Let me have this moment, Marcus.” Her voice quivered. “I may have lost my sister for good. Just let me enjoy this little bit of companionship in this bubble of ours.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, chastened.

“Never apologize for caring about your family.”

He smiled. “Is that what we are? It never occurred to me.”

“With all the shit we’ve been through together and are about to go through, how could you think anything else?”

“I sincerely hope you still feel this way when it’s done.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Father Marcus Keane. Now go figure out how to save my sister. I’ll fill in my parents.”

“I will do _everything_ in my power to do that, Casey.”

“I know,” she said. “Oh, and Marcus?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” 

Casey hung up, leaving Marcus bewildered and feeling rather blessed. 

   


He walked back into the church and down the stairs to Bennett’s office. After an hour of trying to come up with a plan of attack, Bennett finally caved and agreed it would be best to let the scene and God guide them. It irked him that Marcus quoting Tony Stark was what finally got him to relent.

“I have a plan. Attack.”

“That’s not a plan, Marcus. It’s a suicide waiting to happen. The last thing I need is you dying a martyr.”

“Never would live _that_ down, huh?” he quipped, eyebrow raised and smirk in place.

Bennett rolled his eyes and looked at his watch. “We should head upstairs. It’s time.”

They knocked on the door of Bishop Egan’s office, entering when told to do so. A balding man with dark hair and a mustache sat behind a mahogany desk. He gestured for his guests to take a seat. Both politely passed with Bennett standing behind one of the chairs in front of the desk and Marcus leaning against the windowsill, a large piece of stained glass dwarfing him just beyond.

“The Rance woman. You’ve been to see her?”

“We have,” Bennett answered. “It’s as we thought. Worse, actually.”

“How so?”

“The demon has been living inside her for nearly a year,” Bennett informed him. “It was behind the attack on Father Keane and the death of Julia Clarke. It also appears to be very old and very intent on not letting go of Ms. Rance.”

“What does her psychiatrist have to say?”

“A lot, but none of it relevant,” Marcus said.

Bennett shot him a look.

“He doesn’t believe in God, let alone demons or the Devil,” Marcus continued, ignoring his friend. “Everything he has been doing only makes the demon more content in Kat’s skin. It’s dug its claws in so deep it will be a miracle if we get her out in one piece.”

The bishop nodded; his elbows resting on his desk and his hands folded. “You don’t believe you can save her?”

“I believe we should do everything in our power to banish that dark creature back to Hell. I believe we are Katherine Rance’s best chance at survival. I believe that thing will fight us tooth and nail, using Kat as bait while it does unspeakable things to her. _That_ is what I believe.”

“My colleague is passionate, but not wrong, Your Excellency. We plan on starting the exorcism tomorrow. Do we have the Church’s blessing?”

Bishop Egan reclined in his high-backed, leather chair. He considered the situation for several minutes. Marcus suspected the Church already had given their thumbs up or thumbs down, and His Excellency was merely using the time as a power play. Eventually, the bishop grew bored and consented.

“Take whomever you need to expedite this affair,” he said, looking directly at Marcus.

_He knows about Tomas._ Marcus had a million questions, but was never given a chance to ask one.

 “Just follow protocol and carry out the directive with as little bloodshed as possible,” Bishop Egan continued. “The less press on this, the better. It should go without saying, but after the last time I thought a reminder was apropos. ‘May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.’”

Marcus and Bennett left the office in silence and made their way into the nave. Despite its size, it felt rather cozy. They each leaned against the side of a row of pews opposite each other, arms crossed over their chests. Remembrances past weighed heavily on them. The last time they were in this room they had fought over Tomas. Now they were united in saving Kat — with Tomas’ help.

“You’re ready for this,” Bennett told him.

The exorcist was through sitting on the sidelines. His mental and emotional injuries were healing nicely; enough so he could keep them cloaked from Kat’s demon. Compartmentalizing was in his skillset: right next to exorcism, his faith in God and his feelings of inadequacy. The latter was immaterial for now. He was confident in his abilities and in himself to carry out the task at hand.

“ _You’re damn right._ ” 


	12. Chapter 12

Marcus opened his screen door and stepped out onto the porch as Mouse pulled up the long dirt driveway. He was dressed in black skinny jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that drew proper attention to his sculpted arms. The air had warmed up considerably. It nearly felt like summer. A light breeze tickled the back of his neck below the end of his hairline. It teased his scalp as the close-cropped hair left little protection. He watched as she walked up the grass, stopping at the foot of the stairs. She was wearing a wrap dress, a style she favored. It was red with a floral print. Her hair was pinned back at the sides, as usual.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Do we?”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m not sure I know how else to be.”

“How are you with Tomas?” she countered.

He stared at her for a minute, eyes narrowed. _What does she know? Or more to the point, what does she think she knows?_

“What’s this about, Mouse?”

“You’re _really_ going to make me spell it out?”

“I _really_ am.”

“He’s illegally practicing exorcism after leaving the Church years ago and for some unknown reason you’re helping him. Oh, and there’s also the pilfering of organs from the corpses those no longer possessed and the cannibalism. _Comprende?_ ”

“Si. Might as well come in then.” He turned and re-entered the house, holding the door open for her as she followed him inside.

“What the hell are you playing at, Marcus? If the Church found out, you could lose _everything._ Is that what you want?”

Would it really be so bad to leave the Church behind? He knew what he really wanted was to save souls and with God at his back, he could spend the rest of his life doing so happily. It could mean giving up Bennett, Mouse, Harper, Casey … and Tomas. 

Or would it? 

Of course, it would. He had his practice and his source for finding the possessed (his visions notwithstanding) was in Baltimore. He had a sweet gig. No reason to throw it all away. And for what? Marcus wasn’t sure. This was exactly why he would have to say goodbye to Tomas, as well. That is, should he leave (or be kicked out of) the Church. But that was a concern for another time. He had a sanctioned exorcism to begin in a few hours. 

“It wouldn’t be so bad,” he told her. “But I’m not planning any career changes, lateral or otherwise.”

She gave a short nod. Her arms were crossed over her chest. One concern quelled for now; onto the next. “What is your relationship with Tomas?”

Ah. That one was way too complicated for eight o’clock in the morning. “We’re friends. I helped him out with a problem. He’s been helping out with most of mine. Quid pro quo, I think the kids call it,” he said with a wink as he turned away from her and headed into the kitchen. “Coffee? I just put on a pot.”

She exhaled and shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” she responded, again following him. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re not being honest with me.”

He handed her a steaming mug filled with black liquid. It smelled delicious. For all his faults — and there were many — he knew how to make a good cup of coffee.

“It’s called privacy. You, of all people, should be familiar with the concept, Dr. Katz.”

“As you and your _friend_ like to point out, you are not a patient. Therefore, you are not protected by doctor-patient confidentiality.”

He leaned against the counter next to the coffeemaker. “Where is this coming from, Mouse? Why the sudden interest in Tomas and his extracurriculars?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

“ _That little bitch_.”

“Marcus, stop. Yes, I spoke with Rose Cooper. She found me at Crawford’s coffee shop yesterday.”

“Best of friends now, are you?” he sneered.

“Like you and Tomas, you mean?” she shot back. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

He moved past her to take a seat at the kitchen table. She joined him, a concerned expression on her features.

“Let me save you the dissertation. I’ve already heard it all.”

“She told you?”

“Right in there, a few days ago,” he said, pointing toward the living room.

“You obviously listened to what she had to say.”

“ _You_ most certainly did.”

She leaned forward, her jaw set. “Why are you being such a stubborn ass about this? The man is poison. He’s already infected you and you’re either too blind or too stupid to realize it.”

He leaned in. Their faces were mere inches from each other. “You changed your tune rather quick. Maybe I think this _‘poison’_ will do what nothing else has been able to do. I hope it kills all the other toxins in my system — especially here.” He poked himself hard in the chest, where his heart was located. “Like a colonic for my soul.”

Mouse was seeing him for the first time in months. The psychic scars from the shooting and the failed Andrew Kim exorcism finally revealing themselves to her like a riddle on a side of a mountain that can only be read by the light of a particular moon. “He can’t be that for you, Marcus. He’ll drag you down into the muck like the rest of us and drown you in its toxicity. He’s the oil slick in the ocean that suffocates organic life.”

“Then he’s no better than the rest and you have _nothing_ to worry about.” He quickly left his seat, the chair rocking on two or three legs for a bit before resting again on all four.

She got up and blocked his path. What happened next was out of pure love; nothing romantic about it. Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him. Their lips touched for only a few seconds.

He had no words. Honestly, he had been expecting her to do that for years. He had never thought she would. There was a time when he would have welcomed it despite the obvious objections. Now…. Things were so different now.

“I want my friend back. The one who was pissed off at Bennett for tricking him into seeing a shrink in the first place. He is still in there,” she said, jabbing her finger into his chest, “and _he_ is the one who needs to handle this.” She prayed he would see sense; but again where Marcus was concerned, she feared she was too late. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this?”

“You know why.”

“Bullshit. You _chose_ to keep this from everybody. Do we even know the whole story?”

“ _I_ don’t even know the whole story.” He was growing tired of this conversation, but he very much wanted to reach common ground with his friend.

“Then promise me you won’t pursue this…” There was no word that seemed to sufficiently describe him and Tomas. “...with Tomas until you do. I don’t want to lose you because I don’t think I can bring you back. I’m not sure anyone could.”

Her words had hit their mark. Marcus could feel them spreading throughout his body like fire and ice, simultaneously warming and freezing him. Proof of her love was something he hadn’t felt in eight months. Support and friendship, yes; love, however, was elusive. He knew he was as much to blame. Hell, she probably was just mirroring back what he had projected. Tears threatened to spill. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders pulling Mouse in for strong hug. She snaked her arms around his waist and held him tight; her eyes wet as tears hit her cheeks.

It would be the last time they were ever this close again.

   


Marcus pulled into a spot in the parking lot of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. He was dressed in his cleric’s uniform; his work bag beside him on the bench seat filled with supplies for the job ahead. 

Mouse’s words echoed in his brain. _Then promise me you won’t pursue this … with Tomas until you do. I don’t want to lose you because I don’t think I can bring you back. I’m not sure anyone could._  

He took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. Rattled. She had done that to him. He couldn’t afford to be that. 

Not now. 

Looking up at the imposing building in front of him, he thought of Kat and their tainted history. She wasn’t responsible for Marcus’ long day’s journey into night. She didn’t know the pain she wrought. That demon, on the other hand, did. It had known exactly what it was doing all along. Anger and determination smothered any nerves his time with Mouse had wrought.

 He had a job to do and a family to restore. This was his path, divined by God Himself. He thought of Mark 10:9, “Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.” It gave him strength.

He could use every last of drop.

A knock on the driver’s side window brought him out of his reverie. Standing outside with a smile was Tomas. The mere sight of this man brought Marcus to an even keel emotionally. There was one person who could bring him back from just about anything. Mouse would not be pleased. He grabbed his bag and opened the door. Tomas waited for him at the front of the truck. Together they stood side by side as they waited for Bennett to arrive.

“You ready for this?” Marcus asked.

“I am if you are,” was the reply.

Marcus smiled. “Haven’t you heard? I was born ready.”

Tomas laughed heartily. “Good! I like this version of you very much. I look forward to spending more time with this Marcus.”

“Yeah, well. One thing at a time.” He glanced up at the hospital again.

Tomas kept his gaze on his friend. “I think Devon sees you as a fragile little teacup; the finest china used for only special guests.”

Marcus’ eyes slid down till they landed on Tomas’ face. “I’m no one’s teacup, luv. Fragile or otherwise.” He was silent for a moment. “How do _you_ see me?”

Tomas turned his body toward the priest, sliding his hand around the back of Marcus’ neck. “The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.”

“Am I interrupting?”

Bennett was not enjoying the scene playing out before him.

Smiling as he kept his eyes on Marcus, Tomas said, “What an excellent day for an exorcism.”

   


The house in Bethesda, Maryland, was small but well-kept. It was a blue rancher with white shutters and a small flower bed in front of the porch, to the right of the steps. Amelia pulled up to the curb. A wine-colored Jeep sat in the short driveway. She got out, walked up to the front door and rang the bell. Rose opened the main door before unlocking the screen door to let her guest inside.

“You found the place okay?” she asked.

Amelia nodded. “Yeah, it was super easy to find. How long do you here for? I can’t imagine you signed a long-term lease.”

“It’s open-ended,” Rose admitted. “I figure a few months. It helps when you know the landlord. With any luck, I’ll be gone come fall.”

The autumnal season seemed like an eternity away to the psychologist. There were so many questions and so many outcomes, the prospect of something so concrete, so definite, made her head spin.

“You okay?” Rose asked a note of concern in her voice.

“Yeah. Could I get a glass of water?”

“Sure.” She left for the kitchen, returning a minute later with a bottle. “I had some in the fridge. Unless you prefer an actual glass?”

Amelia shook her head. “No, this is perfect. Thank you.”

“Shall we?” Rose led her down the hallway to the room at the end. She opened the door and what Amelia saw chilled her blood.

“Oh. My. God.”

The walls were littered with photos, press clippings, website printouts, sticky notes and even red string to connect ideas with push pins acting as anchors. It was conspiracy theory-level of hypothesizing. Amelia was overwhelmed yet undeniably impressed with Rose’s devotion to the subject. This wasn’t just any subject though. This was someone she knew; people she knew. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape as she took it all in.

“Drink your water,” Rose told her, putting a hand on her upper arm. “Go ahead. It’s a lot to digest.”

She opened the bottle and took a long swig. “How is this even possible?”

“Tomas is a clever man. He has taken extraordinary precautions and planned everything down to the last detail. I also think he has a source, possibly within the Church, giving him the names of those who need to be exorcised.” Rose was watching her new friend in part for a reaction to her revelation and in part because she feared the woman would pass out any second.

“Not Marcus.”

“No,” Rose agreed. “He only just met Tomas. The demon whisperer has been doing this for months, if not years. The people I’ve talked to and the stories I’ve heard corroborate this theory. The only problem is I don’t have proof.”

“That’s never stopped you before.” Amelia was looking at her now, her focus returned.

Rose smiled. “True. And yes, I’m close to publishing. The sooner this story gets out the better for everyone.”

“And by ‘everyone’, you mean you. Because I don’t see how it’s going to help Marcus or even Bennett. Let alone anyone else whom they might have helped during this time.”

“I mean _everyone._ I’m concerned for Marcus and Bennett, and those innocents they have helped since knowing Tomas. But also for the potential victims or the families of those who have already fallen victim to that man. I’m not the most ethical person. I’m also not the least ethical.”

Amelia looked around the room again. “Walk me through it. _All of it._ ”

   


The mostly holy trinity of Marcus, Bennett and Tomas entered BSHCI like gunslingers arriving for a showdown. Chilton was waiting for them in front of the main staircase with a look on his face that gave the distinct impression he would like nothing more than to have them barred from the premises. However, his hands were tied.

 As a result, he was close to cordial when he greeted them. The niceties were kept mercifully brief and before long, the motley crew was heading up the steps to the third floor. Chilton had confirmed Kat was in her morning group therapy session. 

Since she hadn’t been viewed as a danger to herself or others, she was allowed to participate in normal activities unlike the inmates on the first floor, below the main level. They were kept in cells and only brought out for sessions with Chilton or to meet with their lawyers or law enforcement officials in the privacy rooms. 

Marcus, Bennett and Tomas had less than an hour to get Kat’s room prepped before she was delivered unto them.

When they reached her door, Chilton unlocked it and was about to follow them in when Bennett very kindly yet firmly thanked him for his assistance and closed the door in his face. 

Inside, they quickly got to work checking to see how secure were the limb restraints attached to her bed. Once they were satisfied, Marcus and Bennett went about setting out their Bibles, holy water and sprinklers, and crucifixes. Each kissed their respective stoles before placing them around their necks so they hung down their chests. 

The windows weren’t a concern due to the bars on them and the fact they had nothing to cover them since Chilton had refused to provide extra mattresses because there were none. 

When any and all prep had been handled, they united for a prayer, led by Bennett.

It began as follows:

_Prayer to St. Michael the Archangel_

_In the Name of the Father,_

_and of the Son,_

_and of the Holy Ghost._

_Amen._

They completed praying a couple minutes later, just in time for Kat’s return. All three watched her enter the room. She stopped short when she saw them.

“You were actually stupid enough to return. Why is this sow so important to you, lion? Showing off for your cub?” A malicious smile spread across her features. “You needn’t have bothered. He’ll happily suck you off _and_ shove his large cock up your bum. You need only ask. Isn’t that right, doctor? You have the perfect prescription for getting the reticent lion to _roar_ in ecstacy.”

Bennett nodded to the orderlies standing behind her. They snatched Kat by her limbs and carried her to the bed, where they strapped her down using the four-point restraints fastened to the bed. She didn’t put up a fight. She was hardly bothered by it all.

“Tie me up! Tie me down! You’re a kinky fucker, aren’t ya, Marcus? Oh, the fun you two will have once you finally relent.”

Marcus didn’t react. He merely nodded at Bennett and together they began the rites of exorcism with Tomas, who remembered every word. 

They quoted the lines.

“Christ, God's Word made flesh, commands you.”

They sprinkled holy water.

“The sacred Sign of the Cross commands you.”

They held crucifixes. 

“The glorious Mother of God, the Virgin Mary, commands you.”

They made the signs of the cross.

“The faith of the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, and of the other Apostles commands you.” 

Marcus took Kat’s face in his hands.

“The blood of the Martyrs and the pious intercession of all the Saints command you.”

Bennett and Tomas laid a hand on each of her legs.

“Thus, cursed dragon, and you, diabolical legions, we adjure you by the living God, by the true God, by the holy God, by the God ‘who so loved the world that He gave up His only Son, that every soul believing in Him might not perish but have life everlasting’; stop deceiving human creatures and pouring out to them the poison of eternal damnation; stop harming the Church and hindering her liberty.” 

They were zealous in their devotion to cleansing Kat of this demon.

“Begone, Satan, inventor and master of all deceit, enemy of man's salvation.”

It barely made a dent.

“Aw, come on, lion,” Kat taunted. “I know you’ve got more between your legs than that. What will sweet Casey say when she learns her white knight not only fell off his high horse, but was trampled by it?”

“The exact opposite of whatever bile will pour out of this mouth that isn’t yours,” he replied.

She laughed. “ _Atta boy!_ Give the people what they want. Show them the Old Gray Lion is back on top of the mount. I heard about your midlife crisis of faith, Father. Thank you for getting your shit together. I want to defeat you in your prime with this lovely studio audience in attendance.” She looked up at the far left corner of the room. “ _You are not worthy, interloper. You’ll learn not to eavesdrop on conversations above your paygrade.”_

Downstairs, within the confines of his office, Chilton was reclining on the leather couch and hearing the scene playing out in Kat’s room. Suddenly there was a shriek of audio that cut directly into his ears. He whipped off the headphones he was using to listen in, seeing blood on the inside of the earpads. He put a finger to his right ear; it was red when he pulled it away. The same was true of his left ear. The plasma oozed out of both ears with such volume all he could think to do was scream.

He emitted a sound that was high pitched and so intense it carried itself up to the room on the third floor that housed two exorcists, a priest and a demon nesting inside a young, twenty-something woman. 

“Was it something I said?” she asked innocently, but the gleam in her eye was quite the opposite.

   


They sat in the middle of the room, notepads and index cards strewn about the floor. The paraphernalia surrounded them, threatening to engulf the two — an island formed by chance, but no less real. It had been hours since they started navigating the dense network of rumor and circumstantial evidence. 

The late afternoon sun was beginning its descent as the shadows began to ascend the walls. Rose got up and flipped a switch; light bursting forth from an overhead source. Amelia blinked a couple times to get the spots to clear from her eyes. Her head felt like lead; overloaded as it was from the deluge of information Rose had fed her over the course of the day. She lowered her head into her right hand, placing her left on the carpet as a support to keep her upright. 

Rose put a hand between Amelia’s shoulder blades. “We need food.”

Her new partner shook her head slowly. Any faster and she was convinced her head would well cave in. “No. I just need some ibuprofen.”

“That wasn’t a request. We’re taking a dinner break outside of this house. I don’t give a shit if it’s some over-processed fast-food burger with fries made of salt. _We’re going._ So get off your ass.”

Amelia lifted her head to look at Rose directly. “You’re a dick.”

“You’re still sitting. You need me to help you up?”

A loud, frustrated groan emanated from the form on the floor, who managed to get on her feet without any assistance. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic. I’m fucking starving.” She headed for the door until a rumble came from behind her. Turning around, Rose was barely keeping back a huge laugh.

“I _may_ have misjudged how hungry I am,” the other woman admitted, rolling her eyes.

“So can we go now?!”

“YES!” Amelia couldn’t help but laugh at her own ridiculousness. She didn’t care what they ate as long as there was plenty of it.

In the end, they ended up at a fast-food joint with each of them getting two cheeseburgers along with a large fry and large soda. Balanced diet be damned. Grease, salt and caffeine were going to power them through the rest of the evening. 

The meal was eaten on top of a picnic table in the backyard at Rose’s house. It was a gorgeous twilight and the temperatures were still mild. Halfway through the burgers, the journalist broke the companionable silence.

“How are you doing with all this?”

Amelia swallowed the bite she had in her mouth before answering. “Are you kidding? This is better than any haute cuisine.”

Her friend laughed. “I concur most enthusiastically. But I meant the info dump.”

“Oh. Still processing to be honest.” She took another bite from her burger. “It’s insane. This shouldn’t be happening. Not in my world, at least. Then again, what makes _me_ so damn special? I have no right to request immunization from the insanity everyone else has to deal with.”

“You’re right,” Rose replied. “This shouldn’t be happening. But it is and we can shout it from the rooftops to give others a fighting chance.”

“It’s just going to put a target on our backs.”

“Not yours. My byline; my back.”

Amelia put down her burger. “No.”

“I’m not backing down from this because it may get me killed and eaten.”

“You know how insane you sound.”

“You really like that word, don’t you? It’s not insane, it’s just. I know the consequences of my actions and for once, I care. This story may bring about my death, but it also gave me a friend. There’s a weird balance in that.” Rose took a bite out of her burger with exaggerated relish.

“You’re going to lure Tomas with a sensational story about his extracurriculars and you’re going to use Marcus as the bait, aren’t you?”

“He won’t bite otherwise. Plus, I know he’s a fan. Maybe that will get me a reprieve?” She folded a fry in half and popped it into her mouth. “I’ve been doing this for awhile. I know how to survive.”

“You’re annoying as hell,” Amelia said, “but I know I don’t want to lose you. I think if he wants you, he’ll find you. God, I wanted to rip your throat out and shove it up your ass a few weeks ago.”

At that, Rose let out a big, nose-snorting laugh, which caused the psychologist to join in with her own giggle. Neither wanted to dwell on the probability of death this story could bring.

The reporter raised her soda cup. “A toast.”

Amelia followed suit. “What are we toasting?”

“To Tomas Ortega. Purveyor of unlikely friendships. He may have gotten Marcus, but I got you, babe.”

The brunette’s eyes were as wide as her smile. “Hear hear! To Tomas!”

After the last of the food had been eaten, they stayed outside a bit longer. Neither was looking forward to going back to the bleak truth of the workroom inside the house.

It was inevitable though. 

Once they were literally back in the middle of it, Rose resumed telling Amelia about the other scraps of entirely circumstantial evidence she had collected over the past few months. The reporter had spoken with residents in the neighborhoods the bodies had been found (when applicable), co-workers, family members and friends. She had even talked to the cops, though she was less than forthright about her identity. 

Not every trail had led somewhere and others were reaches at best. Tips had been left by users both anonymous and not on Bloodhound’s website, which had a higher hit-or-miss ratio — mostly miss. It all was inadmissible in a court of law, but somehow they both had a sneaking suspicion this would not end with a trial, let alone a conviction. 

Amelia didn’t tell Rose their prime suspect currently was assisting in an exorcism at the state mental hospital. Even now, she still was protecting Marcus. 

It would be the last time she would do so.

   


It had been more than six hours since the exorcism of Kat Rance had begun. Progress had been made, but it was taking its toll on her body, which was deteriorating at an alarming rate. The demon within merely smiled serenely at the rotting flesh taking hold of the meat suit it was housed in and commented it had warned the men it wasn’t leaving — unless they wanted Kat to die. 

The rites continued. Holy water administered. The sign of the cross made on her forehead as she writhed in excruciating pain. It was clear after hour three a plateau had been reached, but Bennett in the room made things a bit more difficult. Marcus switched from hard-hitting to a softer approach, which bought them time they so desperately needed. Now the clock was running out. 

Marcus knew what had to be done. He really wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable new asshole Bennett would rip for him, but they were out of options. Tomas caught his eye. They were on the same page. He nodded for Marcus to walk away from Kat and Bennett so they could talk with some privacy. They met on the other side of the room, conversing in hushed voices.

“You know this is the only way,” Tomas began.

Marcus nodded and glanced at Bennett.

“This isn’t about him, Marcus. This is about Kat and getting rid of that demon once and for all.”

“I know. It’s our only play.”

“You’ve done an admirable job so far. I’ll be honest: You have gotten further in the past few hours then I thought was possible considering how long that thing has been inside her. Now let’s finish this.”

“I suppose this is a true partnership now,” the priest said with a rueful grin.

“You _did_ leave God for me.” He replied with a grin of his own. “It would be rude to walk away now.” 

“How far are you willing to take this?” Marcus knew he was asking about more than the exorcism.

“As far as it goes.” Tomas understood exactly what was being asked.

Marcus cupped the back of Tomas’ neck for a few seconds, holding his tender gaze as he did so. When he released him, he saw they had an audience.

“Awwwww!” cooed demon Kat. “You guys are just the _softest_ fucking exorcists ever! It’s such a privilege to witness the start of your courtship.” She looked at Bennett. “Uh oh. Someone’s not going to be holding his peace at your nuptials.”

Bennett’s stare would freeze water in the Sudan. His eyes followed the duo as they positioned themselves around Kat’s bedside. “What the bloody hell is going on, Marcus?” he hissed into his colleague’s ear.

“There’s something I haven’t told you about Tomas.”

“What.”

Marcus looked at Tomas, who met his eyes before turning his attention to Kat. Her flesh was rotting in more places than before. There was less skin now than just thirty minutes ago.

“Well, hello, handsome,” she said. “Aren’t you pretty. What can I do for such a pretty boy such as yourself?”

“You can let me in,” Tomas told her.

This got her attention. “You wanna rumble with _me_?” She turned to Marcus who was to her left as Tomas was on her right. “Your cub’s got teeth, lion. Better watch he doesn’t turn them on you.”

“Do you want to try me on for size or not?” Tomas asked, getting her to focus on him alone.

She looked him up and down, down and up. A smirk appeared. “I love me some Kit Kat, but a bearskin rug would look _mighty fine_ in my living room. Let’s tango, mi pequeño cachorro.”

Bennett watched in horror as Tomas’ eyes went from hazel to milky white. The exorcist fell to his knees, holding the position. The prefect turned his head to look at Marcus directly. “ _He can let demons into his mind_? You _kept_ this from me for nearly a _month_?!”

“Now is not the time, Bennett. We need to be ready if anything goes wrong while he’s in there.”

“There is so much you’ve kept from me, from Amelia. The more I realize how much, the more concerned for you I become. This is so much more than a crisis of faith. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

“Yeah, well, if you hadn’t been so intent on shoving me into the next available possession while Mouse was trying to mould me into Bing fucking Crosby as I handed out communion wafers then maybe the two of you would have a damn clue! That demon,” he said, pointing at Kat, “knows more about me now than the two of you put together. I know you’ve tried your best, Bennett, but maybe you should have just climbed aboard His Holiness’ private jet and buggered off weeks ago instead of waiting for permission.”

Bennett was stunned. This was the most honest Marcus had been with him in months. He had no intention of stopping him now. However, he couldn’t help but glance at Tomas.

“What irritates you the most?” Marcus continued. “That he’s helped me more in the _month_ that I’ve known him or that _you_ put the cat among the pigeons? Have you ever considered God sent him to me?”

Bennett’s dark skin flushed from the question. He now brought his attention back to Marcus. “That’s not something I can consider.”

“I can. I have. I _prayed_ for God to help me through the black moments so I that could recognize the light and _Tomas_ was at my door the very next morning. He’s been there and continues to be there.”

Bennett took a moment to let Marcus’ words settle upon him. “Why did you stop seeing him for three weeks?”

Marcus was surprised by the question, but regrouped. His face settled back into the wounded man he knew he was. “I needed time after Harper’s exorcism. I wasn’t sure if it was the best idea to be around him. Make no mistake, it was _my_ decision to cut him off just as it was _my_ decision to let him back in. I can’t explain our connection, but it does exist.”

“Better the devil you know,” Bennett said.

“This is better than a telenovela,” Kat quipped as Marcus and Bennett both turned to consider her. “I don’t think your boy is having nearly as much fun as I am.”


	13. Chapter 13

Tomas was sitting in his office with Kat in the chair opposite. This was not Kat though. He knew this was the demon still using Kat as a guise. It was interesting it didn’t dispense with the formalities even here. There was no one else to witness its true form. 

It observed him as he observed it. Two foes sizing up the other before the bout commenced. _Would it come to a brawl?_ he wondered. There had been attacks by other demons, but to go ten rounds would be a new experience. One he actually relished. It had been some time since he had been in a proper fight with someone. He missed the physical contact that came with a one-on-one battle, the rush of adrenaline. His left hand twitched reflexively. 

There had been plenty of fights when he was a kid. However, those would be more accurately referred to as beatdowns. He had been a doughy child, though by no means fat. The fists would come hard and fast with little to no warning. Little to no warning. That was what he had when Olivia had died. One minute she was telling him to hurry up. “Abeula is waiting, Tomas! You can talk to your friend later!” The next minute, her body was contorted on the street; eyes open, seeing nothing. 

The hospital morgue was an antiseptic, brightly lit place that soothed Tomas’ frayed nerves. He went with the ambulance when the emergency medical technicians dropped off Olivia’s corpse. 

The coroner was a nice man in his mid-thirties with blonde hair who initially led Tomas to his office, which had a television to keep him occupied. It wasn’t long before he realized the young boy was watching him perform the autopsy on his sister. The boy wasn’t scared by what he saw; he was fascinated. His eyes darted back and forth between the doctor and the body, absorbing every last detail. 

Dr. Stephen Fisher fetched a footstool for Tomas in order to make it easier for him to see. The young assistant saw Fisher remove each of Olivia’s organs and weigh them before placing them in formalin prior to dissection. Tomas was even able to hold the pan which held his sister’s kidneys. 

At one point, the office telephone rang. As Fisher talked to the person on the other end of the line, Tomas picked up the pan with the kidneys. He checked to make sure the doctor’s back was still to him before running his tongue across both organs. His eyes rolled back into his head and the lids closed as the flavor had hit the fleshy, muscular organ that curled in on itself as it re-entered his mouth. Tomas had never tasted anything like it. It was all he could do not to sink his teeth into one of the kidneys and remove a chunk for his pleasure. He reluctantly put the tray back where he found it. 

“You know, some believe eating certain organs will incorporate their strength into the body and protect the eater’s own organs,” Fisher said upon his return. “Kidneys, in particular, are a delicacy. A rare yet delicious treat.”

Tomas stared at him, unsure if the coroner was a friend or a grownup. You couldn’t always count on grownups, but a friend you could trust with your life.

“We epicures need to stick together. I’ve met never met one so young till you.” He smiled. “You enjoy fine food. Not a fan of regular food, like cheeseburgers or pizza?”

Tomas shrugged. “It’s alright. I like my abuela’s cooking.” He looked at the kidney pan. “It doesn’t taste like that though.”

Fisher’s smile grew larger. “It tastes even better when it’s cooked.”

The boy’s hazel eyes grew wide.

A laugh erupted from the coroner. “As you grow up, hit the library. Expand your knowledge as much as possible. Learn to cook. Have you helped your abuela?”

Tomas nodded his head. “I like helping her in the kitchen.”

“Excellent! Eat and drink only the best, Tomas. Live your best life. That’s my advice for you.”

There were suddenly a million and one questions in his head, but not one would be answered as a moment later his abuela stormed the morgue in search of her lost grandson. It turned out, no one had known what had happened to Tomas immediately following the removal of Olivia’s body from the accident scene. After almost ninety minutes, the cops finally had tracked down the EMTs, who informed them where they could find the boy. 

Tomas’ world was forever changed that day.

“Well aren’t you a dark horse, Dr. Tomas Ortega,” demon Kat asked rhetorically. “Psychiatrist. Exorcist. Cannibal. The ex-priest pining for the current one. I thought I had lost my heart to the Old Gray Lion, but I think I love _you_ most of all.”

“That’s enough time spent in my head,” he warned.

It looked around before bringing its gaze back to him. “You _do_ know where we are, right?”

“We are in but one room of my memory palace. The _only_ room into which you are allowed to venture.”

It was clearly impressed. “No longer the chubby little boy from Chicago. Mexico City made a _man_ out of you! All that bravado though wasn’t enough to erase the pain of Olivia. Then Gabriel came along and broke you all over again. How you tried to save that little sprout. Even recited that little ditty about the cat to engage with the boy. What a waste of time. You know, there’s a place outside Chicago I’ve heard about called St. Aquinas. Do you know it?” 

Tomas slowly shook his head.

“No matter. I only mention it because I’m shocked neither the cub nor the lion wound up there. It’s a place for broken priests. Ooh! Can you imagine the meet cute if, say, Marcus had been thrown in there for whatever reason — maybe Gabriel? — and you showed up one day, out of the blue, and asked for his help cuz some poor soul needed an exorcist and it ain’t you?!” It cackled loudly and heartily. “If that’s not the pilot for a TV show, I don’t know what is.”

“What do you want?” he asked, unamused by the demon’s ramblings. “Kat Rance cannot be an endgame for you. She is nothing.”

Its eyes narrowed to slits. “ _You_ are nothing. You think you are special because you have visions? Because you can expel demons? Because you take what you want and leave the rest to rot? Because you are in love for the first time in your miserable, shallow existence? She is more than you will ever be.”

“You are in love with her,” Tomas said. “A demon in love with a human.”

“My rooting for you and the lion makes so much more sense now, huh?”

“You’re killing her.”

“And you’ll kill him.”

“I don’t know that. I sincerely hope not.”

“Marcus Keane is a tasty treat that you can’t wait to get into your mouth. _Fact._ ”

“Fact.”

A smirk appeared on its face. “We’re the same you and I. Let’s make a deal. I stay here inside Kat, snug as a bug in a rug. Only I go dormant for a bit. I continue to play nice, she gets out in a few months. Once we’re free, we’re gone. You’ll never hear from us again. As for you, you get to be the hero _and_ you get the guy. Win-win.” Its elbows on the armrest, its forearms were raised as its palms were facing up; as if to ask, _What do you think?_

“Let me talk to Kat.”

“Why?”

“I’m nothing if not thorough.”

It snorted. “OK. Two minutes.”

“Who the hell are you? _Where am I?_ ”

Tomas came over to Kat and crouched in front of her. “My name is Tomas. I’m a psychiatrist. I’m here with Father Marcus Keane. We’re trying to save you.”

“Ohmigod. He’s _alive?!_ I thought we had killed him when we — when we killed — Julia.” Kat was beginning to hyperventilate.

“Breathe, Katherine. We don’t have a lot of time. It wants me to make a deal. Allow it to stay with you, dormant, then the two of you will be free in the world when you get out. I need to know if this is what you want.”

“NO! NO! DON’T LEAVE ME HERE WITH IT. I’M BEGGING YOU, PLEASE….”

“It’s alright. I won’t do that. I promise.” He smoothed her hair, which helped calm her. “Now I need to know just one more thing. Were you conscious the night you killed Julia and shot Marcus. Did you know what was happening.”

Kat was sobbing now and borderline hysterical. It took a few seconds to form the word. When she did, it was quiet but unmissable. “Yes.”

“I see.” He took her into his arms and held her as she cried into his shoulder. While she was in his arms, he whispered into her ear. She nodded occasionally and said “yes” when required. After about a minute, he let her go. “It was nice meeting you, Kat.”

“Same.”

Then she was gone and the demon was back.

“Let’s make a deal,” Tomas said.

   


“The power of Christ compels you!

“The power of Christ compels you!

“The power of Christ compels you!”

Marcus and Bennett were repeating in unison the mantra which had served exorcists well for decades. They had kept up the ritual after Tomas let the demon into his mind, coming together for the sake of Kat.

 Where this left their relationship after the exorcism was complete was not a topic either of them wanted to consider. At least not right now. The time for recrimination would come soon enough. 

Kat writhed on the bed, pulling at the restraints as her body contorted. She screamed. She cursed. They didn’t stop. They kept up the fight. She stopped flailing when Tomas returned. 

Marcus put a hand on Bennett’s forearm when he saw her body fall still. He glanced over at Tomas just as the milky white evaporated from his eyes, leaving the hazel irises with which he had become familiar. Marcus closed his Bible and dropped to the bed.

“Kat?” he asked softly.

Her eyes fluttered. Her breathing was ragged.

“Katherine?” he asked again, stronger this time.

She opened her eyes. She was pale, but her skin already was beginning to heal from the wounds inflicted upon her by the holy water and the rot that had taken hold thanks to the demon within. It would be some time, however, before she would like herself. “Thank you,” she said to Marcus. “Thank you for coming. For saving me.” She looked at Bennett standing to next to Marcus and moved her head on the pillow to see Tomas. “All of you.”

“We’re just glad you’re safe,” Marcus told her.

“I’m so sorry.” She was looking again at the priest she had nearly killed less than a year ago. There were tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Hey now,” he said, leaning in. “It’s alright, my child. There’s no need to be sorry.” Marcus spoke with as much love as he could muster. 

Kat’s heart broke as she looked into his sincere face. The tears which previously were a stream had become a flood as a torrent of emotion overtook her. Marcus placed his hands on both sides of her face and kissed her forehead before resting his own against hers. Tomas held her hand.

Bennett watched the scene unfold before him. He had performed few exorcisms; so few, he could count them on one hand and still have a couple fingers to spare. He was in awe of Marcus and, despite his better judgment, Tomas. 

They performed a miracle by saving this woman. It was a miracle they had performed a few weeks ago with Harper Graham. Bennett was having trouble accounting for the fact they had accomplished two successful exorcisms in less than a month. He couldn’t argue with the results.

 It was God’s will these young women had survived, but he knew in his gut it was only a matter of time before Tomas deemed someone unworthy of saving. Heaven help them both if Marcus was with him when it happened. 

The last thing he wanted to do now was leave those two alone with Kat, but he needed to check on Chilton and find someone to possibly remove the restraints that bound her to the bed. Last they had heard, the administrator had been taken to the hospital. Early word was he may never hear again.

“I’ll see if someone can loosen those for you, Ms. Rance,” he said.

Marcus sat up and smiled his thanks. Bennett reciprocated. 

Kat said, “Thank you.” Her tears were now just the bare minimum. She sniffed. 

Tomas took his handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing her eyes and nose. 

Bennett left the room. He was only gone for a few minutes before returning with an orderly — one of the men who had escorted Kat into the room earlier — who freed her limbs from the restraints. 

She stretched languorously, afraid to move in case she jostled something inside her. Then she realized there was nothing inside her anymore. She pushed herself into an upright position and looked at her two saviors now sitting side-by-side on the bed in front of her. “It’s really gone. I don’t feel it anymore. I’m really free?”

Marcus and Tomas glanced at each other silently confirming what they knew before turning their attention to Kat. “It’s completely gone,” Tomas told her. “It will never harm you again.”

She hugged Tomas tight. Then she grabbed Marcus and hugged him even tighter. “I can never thank you enough for everything you’ve done and tried to do,” she whispered.

“I did nothing less than was necessary,” he assured her once she let him go. “And I would do it again.”

That made her smile. Her next thought made her tense up. “My family—”

“I’ll call them and tell them the good news,” Marcus told her.

She relaxed. “I can only imagine what they must think. The horrible things I did and said.”

“Try not to think about that, Kat,” Tomas said. “They love you and never gave up on you.”

“It’s true,” Marcus agreed. “Casey sought me out herself and presented your case. Your family are your biggest allies. Even when Chilton tried to prevent us from coming, they stood firm.”

Kat grabbed her wrists. “Ohmigod. Dr. Chilton. That poor man!”

Marcus placed his hands over hers. “He’s alive. That’s the important thing. It’s unfortunate about his hearing loss, but at least it wasn’t his life.”

She nodded, not entirely convinced. Her body felt like a lead balloon. All she wanted to do was sleep for the next thirty years. “Do you mind if I get some rest? I just want to lie down.”

The men rose from the bed, allowing her to slide lower onto her back. “We’ll be just outside,” Tomas said.

Bennett led them out the door into the hallway. Once out of the room, Marcus slid down the wall across from Kat’s door till his butt hit the floor. He pulled up his knees, placed his outstretched arms on top and let his head fall onto his arms. Tomas watched him tenderly.

“Do you want me to call the Rance family?” Bennett asked.

Marcus exhaled dramatically. He didn’t move otherwise. “No. I’ll do it. I told Casey I would. Just give me a minute.”

Tomas walked down the hall a few paces before turning around and coming back. Bennett stood stoically in place, refusing to cede even one step in his battle of wills against the psychiatrist.

The Church-recognized exorcist raised his head and lifted up his arms in an elegant stretch. Tomas admired the way his friend’s muscles reacted to the movement. Marcus was in shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows; his collar still in place and his jacket on the floor next to him. Tomas understood why the limber man in front of him preferred the company of cats: He was practically feline himself. A small grin formed on his lips at the thought of limber Marcus Keane.

“I’ll be back,” Marcus said after he was on his feet. “Try not to kill each other.”

   


He walked all the way outside. The air did wonders for him after being cooped up in the hospital all day. Deep breaths of warm air circulated within him before he breathed them back out. He looked up at the sky at twilight, all purples and blues as the last of the sun dipped below the horizon. After taking in this gorgeous example of God’s work, Marcus pulled out his mobile and made the call.

“Marcus?” Casey’s voice was calm with a hint of anxiety. “Is it — is it over?”

“It’s over, Casey.” He made sure to keep a soothing tone. “She’s with us. The demon’s gone.”

“Oh God.” There were voices in the background, most likely her parents, Angela and Henry. “He did it,” she told them. She started laughing. “He really did it.” They asked about the demon. “Gone! She’s free.” Now she was talking to him. “Marcus Keane I fucking love you and will _never_ be able to thank you enough for everything you’ve done for this family.”

He could hear the chorus of “thank yous” from Angela and Henry in the background and smiled. “It was a group effort, but you’re welcome. _You all are!_ ” He shouted the last bit, then took a quick peek around to make sure no one on the property actually had heard him. “I should get back and check on her. I just wanted you to know.”

“When can we see her?” Casey was just as eager to see her sister as her parents.

“Tomorrow. She needs her rest. She’s had a demon inside her for the better part of a year. A few hours’ sleep is not too much ask now, is it?” He was teasing her just a bit.

An exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I _suppose_ she’s earned it.” The warmth pouring from Casey filled Marcus to his soul. “We’ll be there first thing in the morning. If Chilton doesn’t like it, he can suck it.”

“Chilton won’t be a problem.” He didn’t want to say it, but he couldn’t lie to her either. 

“Why not?” To her parents: “Mom! Dad! I can’t hear him!” Back to Marcus: “Sorry, why not?”

He sighed. “He’s in the hospital actually.”

“Holy shit! Sorry. Is he okay?”

He looked up at the sky for the strength to continue this part of the conversation. “There was an accident. He may have lost his hearing in both ears.”

“Ohmigod! What hap—” She knew at least who happened. Her voice was grave when she spoked next. “What did she do?”

“Chilton has the entire hospital bugged — or at least ninety-five percent of it. The demon knew he was listening in as we began the exorcism and destroyed his ears kinetically.” He could hear Angela saying Casey’s name in the distance.

There was silence for a full minute. “He’s okay otherwise?” She was doing what he did earlier with her sister: trying to find the silver lining; or spin straw into gold, depending on your preference.

“As far as I know. I think Bennett’s going to check on him and see what he can find out. Casey—”

“Not your fault. I mean it. This isn’t on you. Will you be there in the morning?”

A quick smile before he answered. “If you wish.”

“I do. I need a friend. We all do.”

“Shall I bring the bells?”

“Don’t be an arse.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight, Casey and family.”

“Goodnight, Marcus. You _are_ family.”

   


When he got back upstairs only Tomas remained in the hallway. “Where’s Bennett?”

“He decided to drive to the hospital and check on Chilton in person.” He paused. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Marcus chuckled. “Figured that out, did you? Guess that college education is finally paying off.”

Tomas laughed. “I’m quite an astute observer. You should know this about me.”

This time Marcus let out a loud, joyous laugh. “Tomas Ortega made a joke?”

“I’m very funny.” His smile was filled with mirth even as he was being self-deprecating.

“Well wonders never cease. I sometimes forget how much I need to learn about you.”

“Whatever you want to know. Just ask.”

Marcus filed that away to use at another time. He turned when he heard footsteps heading in their direction. It was the orderly from before and he looked nervous. “What’s wrong?”

The man was more distraught upon closer inspection. “I lost the pen knife I keep on my keychain. I had it when I went in there,” he pointed at the door, “to unlock her restraints.”

“You’re sure?” Tomas asked.

Marcus ran the scene with Kat in his head. She had said she was tired and wanted to rest. She was concerned about Chilton, as well as her family’s reaction to her past actions. _I can_ _never thank you enough for everything you’ve done and tried to do._ His heart seized as the adrenaline began to pump through his veins.

“Get backup here NOW!” Marcus ordered before running into Kat’s room. 

The orderly didn’t move at first.

“GO!” Tomas barked, scaring the man enough to book it back down the hall. He watched him disappear around the corner to where the back stairs were located, but didn’t go into the room right away.

Inside, Marcus saw an empty bed. He scanned the half of the room in front of him as he walked further in; even checking under the bed, but there was nothing. When he turned around, she was right in front of him. Her eyes were red from crying. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in a very long time, which was probably accurate. 

She stared into his eyes, trying to figure out a question only she could answer. It happened in a literal blink of an eye. The answer to the conundrum had presented itself. He could see it on her face as her expression changed from blank slate to one filled with remorse.

“You’ll survive because it’s who you are.”

“What?” 

The first stab was quick, but the next ten travelled at the speed of light. He both barely felt them yet, at the same time, felt every last one. Each tore through his lower abdomen. He was on the floor, bleeding out, before she had reached the door. 

He heard Tomas say her name and then what sounded like a thud. Had she stabbed him, too? He tried to drag himself toward the door, but it was too far away and what little energy he had was ebbing. 

She was wrong. He wasn’t going to survive this. He had finally reached his ninth life. Not how he saw himself going out. However, he wasn’t surprised. Regrets? He had a few. The biggest one was never finding out where his relationship with Tomas could have gone. 

Suddenly, he was right there with him. Was he bleeding?

“Marcus. Can you hear me? Quédate conmigo.” He pulled out his mobile and dialed 9-1-1. Once he knew an ambulance was on the way, he hung up and put his phone away. “Marcus. Help is on its way.” 

He grabbed the pillow from the bed and removed its pillowcase, folding it in eighths. He tore open Marcus’ black button-up shirt and used the pillowcase to absorb the blood as he applied pressure directly on the wound. She hadn’t stabbed him repeatedly so much as jaggedly sliced him open. The small knife did him no favors.

“You…” Marcus was looking at him, seeing the truth of the situation unfold like a map in his mind; one which allowed him to find his way to his destination. “You did this. You said something to her ... when they were in your mind. I trusted you.”

Tomas freed one of his hands from applying pressure and placed it on Marcus’ cheek. “She was never going to survive alone after what she had done. She was conscious during the attack on you and her wife. Then Chilton. She couldn’t face her family thinking they wouldn’t look at her the same way. I gave her an option and she took it. 

“I am sorry you had to cross paths with her again in this way. Trust is a two-way street. I trust you will survive this because it is in your nature, mi ángel guerrero. God and I have such plans for you. Your trust in me is not misplaced, Marcus. I promise you.”

   


The dayroom on the third floor of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane was one of a handful of rooms on the grounds that did not have wire enmeshed within the windows. Kat knew this helpful piece of information thanks to the sweet words of guidance Tomas had whispered in her ear as they sat in the office construct inside his memory palace. 

She made a beeline for it, attacking three orderlies and dodging a security officer before shutting the door to the dayroom and breaking off the pen knife in the lock. It was a large room with enough space for one to gain a running start before throwing one’s body through one of the tall windows in the far corner of the room. 

That was exactly what she did. 

The glass shattered and sprayed the ground below.

She landed on top of one of the hospital’s vans that had been parked outside the loading dock to the cafeteria, which was located below the dayroom. 

Kat Rance uttered one last word before she died.

“Julia.”


	14. Chapter 14

The last thing Marcus remembered before waking up in a bed with Tomas asleep in the chair next to him was lying prone on the floor of Kat Rance’s room while he seemingly had bled out. This was his second hospital stay inside of a year. He would be damned if there was a third. He attempted to adjust himself, but the searing pain in his abdomen told him that was a stupid move. All moves at this point were bad. 

He let out a loud grunt when the agony of his decision spread throughout his torso. His back arched reflexively as his head tilted back; his face contorted into a grimace. He felt a hand on his left shoulder and another over his left hand which was resting over his wound after he had released his right side.

“Fácil, Marcus. Relajarse.” Tomas’ soothing voice eased his physical torment. “Do you want me to get a nurse or doctor?”

“No,” he said softly, his eyes closed.

“Entonces descansa, mi hermano,” Tomas urged as he squeezed his shoulder.

Rest was an excellent idea. Marcus felt his body relax as Tomas had instructed and his breathing ease as the pain ceased. He cast his mind back to the two of them on the floor after he been stabbed. Tomas’ confession, such as it was, lingered. 

Kat had been in such pain once she was free of the demon. There were so many questions that remained; most likely never to be answered. Casey floated into his mind, but he couldn’t bear to see her image so he pushed her away. Then he recalled Tomas kneeling next to him, putting pressure on his wound with one hand as the other was caressing his cheek. 

Marcus had accused him of one thing, while keeping silent on another. He would have to broach the subject now. There was no getting around it. Who knew what kind of relationship they could have once the truth was out. It pained Marcus more deeply than the laceration on his body. The thought that he could lose him. Or worse, have himself removed from Tomas’ life like a malignant tumor. 

He could still feel his friend’s hands on his body. Oh would he like that. It wasn’t a question anymore so much as a repressed fantasy. He fell asleep to that lovely, soft concept.

When Marcus awoke a few hours later, sunshine filled the room. Seeing the rays made him feel at peace; at one with God. There was a warmth in his chest that he quite liked. He believed it to be God’s touch, telling him he was safe and protected. This made him smile. He turned his head to the left, the smile fading as he saw the chair was empty. The door to the room opened and the smile returned. 

Tomas entered with a paper cup filled with coffee or so Marcus presumed. The psychiatrist’s face lit up when he saw his friend was once again awake and, even better, alert. He set down the cup on the table by the window. “How are you feeling?” he asked cautiously.

“Mucho mejor,” Marcus replied. “How’s the coffee?”

“Dark and bitter. Therefore I am very much unsatisfied.” A grin began to form. “In my short walk from the machine down the hall to here, I have come to refer to it as Bennett.”

A short bark of a laugh erupted from Marcus, who instantaneously was punished for such an outburst. “Oh God. Don’t make me laugh unless you want to kill me.”

“That is the last thing I want, I assure you.” His face softened, his eyes filled with sincerity. He slowly approached his chair, but didn’t sit down. What he wanted was to sit on the bed, bringing him in even closer proximity to this man he could have lost had Kat gotten her hands on a more effective weapon. Regret was not a trade he dealt in yet he very much would have questioned his actions if Marcus had died. He settled back into the chair. It would do for now.

“What happened? I remember talking to you about Kat, but it’s a little hazy after that.”

“The ambulance arrived,” Tomas said. “The EMTs made sure you were stable before taking you away. Devon was already here with Frederick, so I called ahead so he would know we were coming. He’s very angry with you for getting stabbed.”

“Angry with you for _getting_ me stabbed, more like.” Mirth danced in Marcus’ eyes.

“Agree to disagree.” Tomas enjoyed their banter. He liked letting his guard down around him. “You were admitted straightaway and wheeled into surgery, where you remained for several hours. It took them awhile to stop the bleeding. Once they were able to do that, you were brought to the ICU where you stayed for twenty-four hours. Then, you were moved here to your very own room. That was two days ago.”

Marcus took a minute to let it all sink in. “I’ve been here three days. Just you to stand watch or did Bennett not disown me?”

A tender smile formed on Tomas’ lips. “You have been quite popular. Not just myself and Devon, but Amelia, Harper and her mom, and the Rances. You can tell a lot about a man by the company he keeps.” He leaned in slightly. “You are loved, Marcus Keane.”

He did feel loved, but he couldn’t believe the Rances had shown up with anything but disappointment and anger in their hearts. “How were they? The Rances, I mean.”

Tomas was confused. “They were lovely. They had nothing but concern for you.” He realized the real question. “They don’t blame you for what happened with Kat.”

Marcus closed his eyes trying to keep the tears at bay. He felt Tomas take his left hand just as he had done before. 

“Casey stayed each morning when I went home for a few hours’ sleep,” Tomas continued. “We’ve been trading shifts along with Amelia and Devon. She didn’t want you to wake up alone. She said you didn’t deserve that.”

“You don’t.”

He opened his eyes to see Casey at the foot of the bed. She was a vision for his tired eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

She came around to the other side, sitting down carefully on the bed. Tomas envied her comfortable relationship with Marcus. She shook her head. “ _Thank you._ You saved my sister, and gave me and my parents peace of mind. I know the real ending isn’t what we wanted, but I know Kat. She would have been in such pain knowing she had participated in Julia’s death and in harming you. She died on her own terms.” She took Marcus’ other hand in both of hers and looked him in the eyes. “ _We’re good._ My parents are so grateful for everything you’ve done. I’m so sorry you’re here because of her. Again. But I’m so happy you’re still here.”

“So am I,” he admitted.

She kicked Tomas out a few minutes later, telling him it was her turn to hog the patient. Tomas willingly, though somewhat reluctantly, obliged. He watched the two of them engage in conversation and just enjoy each other’s company. For the second time since she had arrived, he envied Casey Rance. He also was grateful Marcus had someone in his life who would fight for him as hard as Tomas would. 

Casey had stepped up when tensions had begun to rise between him and Bennett, telling them to take their hostility elsewhere. “This is about Marcus, _not_ the two of you. Measure your dicks somewhere else.” Tomas and she were friends from that moment. Casey also had started getting to know Harper, who had stopped by each day after school with her mom, Lorraine. Amelia took the shift after Bennett so he and Tomas wouldn’t come in contact. Bennett relieved Casey, who stayed longer so she could see Harper.

Marcus had a strong, loving support system. Tomas wondered how long it would be before he left them behind.

   


Tomas hadn’t been home long when he received a phone call from Maria Walters asking if she could stop by for a few minutes. This was unexpected. His curiosity was piqued. He welcomed her into his office twenty minutes later. There was something off about her demeanor. She seemed nervous though she hid it relatively well. He offered her a seat, but she declined.

“I prefer to stand, thank you.”

Now she had his attention. 

“What is it you wish you to talk about?” he asked. They had been scheduled to meet yesterday, but Tomas had postponed indefinitely. He didn’t want to be sitting somewhere else for an hour when it was possible Marcus could need him.

“I am tendering my resignation as your psychiatrist.” She briefly met his eye when she said this, holding his gaze just long enough to prove she was serious. “I feel I can no longer offer you the analytical response you require and so I am officially retiring.” She moved passed him and walked about the room. “I have no desire to stay in Baltimore. With George gone, there is nothing to keep me here. This is a move I have been considering for some months. I finally realized there is no reason not to act on this desire, so I am.” She watched apprehensively for his response.

He considered her for a moment. “This is a surprise, I admit. I appreciate you telling me in person. I, of course, will honor your wishes, but I do wish you would reconsider.”

“No. On this I am firm. As for my relaying the news in person, I felt it was the least I could do. We have a history, you and I. It would have been rude otherwise. And … I know how much you detest the rude.”

A sliver of smile appeared on his face.

“How is Father Keane? I read about his misfortune via a rather enlightening story I found on Bloodhound. The reporter’s language was rather … colorful.” A wan smile sat on her face. “Now I _know_ why you canceled our most recent appointment. I suspected he might have been the cause, but not to such a degree. I _am_ sorry.”

“He’s doing much better. Thank you for asking. He was awake and alert when I left him a little bit ago. The doctor was optimistic he would be released in a day or two.” He had called the doctor once he was home. Under the belief Tomas and Marcus were partners (Tomas always chose his words carefully), the young doctor updated him on Marcus’ condition and when he expected him to be discharged. Now his own good mood was tempered as he switched subjects. “As for the Rose Cooper piece, I have read it. Marcus has not. He will soon enough, but I did not want to impede his progress. His well-being is what is most important now. We want him home as soon as possible.”

Maria couldn’t help herself. Against her better judgment, she waded back into the waters even though she had made it to dry land. “‘We?’”

“Marcus, myself and his friends and family.”

“He’s a popular boy. It’s not like you to associate yourself with the big man on campus. Aren’t you afraid of being overshadowed?”

The smile returned. She was baiting him. He enjoyed knocking into her lure. The tease was half the fun. Should he actually bite, it would be most unappetizing for her. He looked forward to that day. “Of course not. Marcus and I understand each other. We have a bond that continues to strengthen every day. Why, he knows more about me than you do.”

Her spine stiffened. She could feel the tide pulling her in, but she resisted and headed back to shore. “It looks as though you are getting everything you desire, Tomas. I sincerely hope you will be happy with the life you have created.” She carefully yet steadily made her way back to the door.

“When do you leave, Maria? Will I see you again before you go?” He watched her with some amusement. _Does she think I’m going to suddenly leap after her with a carving knife and slit her throat like in a slasher movie?_ He couldn’t deny the idea was tempting. Mundane, yet tempting nonetheless.

She reached the door without any impediment. “No. I’m heading to the airport from here.”

“So soon? That’s awfully quick.”

“Yes, well, you only live once. Goodbye, Tomas.”

He quickly bowed his head. “Goodbye, Maria.”

Out the door she slid, closing it firmly behind her.

   


The physician had given Marcus a fairly clean bill of health. He was still going to have to stick around for a couple days, but then he would be free to go home. He said a little prayer and thanked the doctor, who looked like he should be learning about safe sex in fifth-period health instead of wearing a white coat and a stethoscope around his neck. Once Doogie Howser had left, Marcus relaxed into the pillows propping him up. 

Casey was still on duty. She still had a couple hours left before Harper would arrive for their first proper group hang. Marcus was impressed she wanted to hang out with an old bore like him. She was skipping school, for crying out loud. She shrugged her shoulders when he mentioned it. 

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. Besides, it’s basically the end of the school year anyway. I’m a senior and an honor student who would have to seriously fuck up to screw with my GPA. My parents got me excused by citing a family emergency, which is totally true by the way, so I’m square with the Man upstairs.”

He chuckled. “Gotta take care of creepy Uncle Marcus.”

She punched his upper arm.

“Hey! I’m injured here.” His mischievous grin had returned.

“ _Cool_ Uncle Marcus with the creepy job.” She scrunched her face playfully and pointed at him. “Don’t _ever_ forget it!”

Another chuckle. “I won’t.”

She looked at him equal parts wary and mocking.

“ _I won’t._ ”

“Good.” Casey got up from the bed, where she had been parked since she arrived a couple hours ago, and stretched. “I’m gonna pee, and find some caffeine and maybe a brownie or something.” She pointed at him. “You want?”

He shook his head. “No, thank you. Go stretch your legs. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“You’re damn right. I’ll hunt you down myself otherwise.” She winked at him before leaving.

He enjoyed the quiet for all of maybe six minutes before wondering how soon Casey would return from her mission. Seeing the television remote beside him on the bed, he picked it up and switched on the set. 

After flicking through a few channels, he came upon a scene of two men trying to expel a demon from a young woman who was bound to a chair with a pentagram (“Is that _spray painted_?” he asked incredulously.) on the ceiling above. One of the men was tall with brown hair ending an inch or so above his shoulders. The other was shorter with a moderately grown-out buzz cut. Both were wearing flannel shirts and looked liked they pouted in front of the mirror a lot. 

Marcus snorted. “This should be entertaining.”

   


When the door opened a short time later, he was too busy taking potshots at the dialogue (“That’s not even real Latin!” “Oh just kiss him already, you’ll both feel better.”) to notice it wasn’t Casey. The show cut to a commercial a minute later. The visitor walked further into the room, forcing him to take notice. “Can I help?” he asked the stranger.

The tall woman with a stocky build and short brown hair introduced herself. “My name is Maria Walters. I was Tomas Ortega’s psychiatrist.”

This was not how he saw his day going. “I didn’t know Tomas saw a psychiatrist.”

She gave a thin smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Most shrinks do. It’s considered good practice.” She waited a beat before continuing. “You think you know the man behind the monster, but you don’t. He can’t be saved. What you need to see, to understand, is he believes he is saving you; transforming you into what he imagines you to be. Someone who will not only fight beside him, but will be there always.”

Marcus’ pulse began to race; his heart was pounding so hard he could feel it pulsating in his ear drums. So many thoughts were swirling around in his head, he wasn’t sure which thought he should latch onto first. One image did present itself. “The two of us standing in the doorway pushing back the night.”

A step forward. “Not pushing it back; welcoming it. It will wash over you both with its inky blue pigment so that when you step out into the moonlight, you’ll think it looks black. And you will be mesmerized by the night and by him.”

Another thought. One he had believed he only would utter aloud to him. Instead he rephrased it so the words would fit inside his mouth as comfortably as possible. It still scared him to ask, but there was no other option. “Is Tomas in _love_ with me?”

A step closer. She was nearly out of time; could feel it. The girl would be back with questions and Marcus had too many of his own. “You are a good man, _Father_ Keane. Don’t let his appetite stray you from the path God has chosen for you. An ache only means you’re human, not that you’re hungry.”

“So they actually have pretty good homemade cookies in the—” Casey stopped dead in her tracks when she saw they weren’t alone.

Maria ventured to the foot of the bed. “Save yourself. _See._ ” She nearly ran out of the room after speaking her piece, leaving Marcus and Casey to work out what just had happened.

“ _Who was that?_ ” Casey asked.

“A canary.” Marcus could feel the darkness pressing in on him — the warmth he still felt in his chest notwithstanding. What he didn’t know was what he was going to do about it.

   


Two days later, Marcus was discharged. Leading up to his release, he had slept better than he had expected. Tomas stayed each night in the chair next to Marcus’ bed. The psychiatrist would see his friend begin to get agitated as he slept, his heart rate rising per the monitor stationed on the right side of the bed. He would take Marcus’ hand, rotating his thumb over the spot on his wrist where his pulse could be found, and run the fingers of his own left hand along his temple. It wasn’t long before Marcus became calm once more; the heart monitor confirming the results. 

Tomas already had decided Marcus would come home with him. He wanted to be sure there were no setbacks in his recovery. It was a ridiculous thought, but knowing Marcus’ night terrors could cause him to tear his stitches made him uncomfortable. Leaving him in the care of Bennett and Amelia annoyed him. They could undo all the progress he and Marcus had made. He felt confident in his relationship with Marcus, but he very much did not want to lose him. Not now when he had given himself a most inconvenient — yet not unexpected — diagnosis. 

_______________________________

Amelia had not told Marcus about her partnership with Rose Cooper. For the time being it was just as well since the two women had fought about the breaking news Rose had posted the night of the attack. Amelia had called her immediately after she had seen the story. She was at home having just finished her shift at the hospital. A glass of wine was on the coffee table in front of her. There was no way she was having this conversation without backup.

“What did you do?!” This wasn't the best beginning, but she already was emotionally fried from dealing with the immediate fallout from the exorcism. The wine really wasn't helping either.

“My job,” came the reply. 

Things deteriorated from there. Comments were said that couldn't be unsaid. Feelings were hurt. Twenty minutes later, Amelia hung up and threw her mobile onto the couch. She cried for a long time after.

Amelia knew Marcus wasn’t aware of the latest Bloodhound piece. Tomas told her he didn’t want him to know while he was he still in the hospital. The last thing Marcus needed was a stroke despite the convenience of already being admitted. She had agreed for the sake of her friend. Looking at Tomas directly wasn’t as hard as she had thought it might be. Not doing him bodily harm, however, took every ounce of strength she had in her. He knew she was aware of his extracurriculars. 

_Good. Self-righteous bastard. Let him know I won’t let him take Marcus without a fight. You don’t deserve him, Tomas. Only God gets to have him. He_ ** _chose_** _him. He’s too special for the likes of you._ She hated he had spent each night by Marcus’ side. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be allowed to have nice things.

_______________________________

Bennett managed to avoid Tomas thanks to the babysitting schedule Amelia had worked out. Like her, he wasn’t happy Tomas had the overnight shift. This was why he camped out in the waiting room each night. A watchdog who tended to his flock while the wolf lingered nearby. He left when Casey arrived in the morning. She stopped him the day of Marcus’ discharge. 

“Why do you stay out here while Tomas is with Marcus? Don’t you trust him?”

He considered staying neutral, but she was too close with Marcus to risk it. “No. I don’t.” A thought occurred to him. “Do me a favor, Casey?”

Bennett was starting to scare her. He was one of Marcus’ closest friends. If he didn’t trust Tomas, why did Marcus? She didn’t want anything to happen to her friend. Whatever it took, she had his back.

“As much as you can, don’t let Harper alone with them. Especially Tomas. I don’t think he would hurt her, but I can’t guarantee it. Will you do that for me?”

“Marcus would never let anything happen to Harper.”

“I know. But I don’t trust Tomas’ influence over him.”

She didn’t like the situation. Despite her burgeoning friendship with Tomas, her fondness for Harper and Marcus won out in the end. 

“Okay, Father Bennett.”

He liked Casey. She was as fierce a defender of those she loved as anyone, Marcus included. “Bennett is fine.”

She smiled. “Whatever you say, Bennett.”

_No wonder Marcus likes her so much._ Casey Rance was the kid sister Marcus always had wanted.

_______________________________

The day before, Bennett had talked with Marcus about what he was looking forward to most about going home.

“The night terrors,” he said, half joking. 

“Are you still having them? Maybe you should see one about that.”

“ _I am._ ” The reply was pointed. His face was serious without that familiar glint of humor in his eyes.

“A second opinion couldn’t hurt.”

“Actually, the past few nights I’ve slept rather well considering.”

“Yet you’re still concerned.”

Marcus recognized Bennett’s own concern for him. “A bit, yeah.”

“I can come stay with you for a bit. That one chair you have in your living room looks as though it may be comfortable enough.”

The patient chuckled. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s really not necessary, Bennett. I’m looking forward to hanging out with the cats and just getting back to normal.”

“Of course. A drink one night then?”

Marcus smiled. “It’s a date.”

_______________________________

Later that night, Tomas had found him reading when he arrived for his shift. He had passed Amelia in the hall just outside Marcus’ room. She was polite in her acknowledgement of him, but didn’t stop to chat. He didn’t mind. The only person he had wanted to speak with was just on the other side of the door. 

“The Bible again?” he asked when he saw what book Marcus was holding. It wasn’t until he came closer that he saw the pencil in hand. “What are you doing?”

“Redacting.”

Tomas held out a hand. “May I?”

Marcus hesitated, but gave him the book. 

The other man took in the sketches on the pages that were open and then slowly went through the rest. Awe and wonder and love flickered on his features as he saw each drawing; touching them tenderly, carefully, as if they would disintegrate when his finger met the graphite. After viewing the last one, he looked up from the Bible and at his friend, the artist. “Marcus…. These are beautiful. I had no idea you were so talented.”

He ducked his head. “It’s just something that calms me.”

“Don’t do that.” Tomas shut the book. “Don’t diminish what God gave you. This is a gift.” He held up the Bible. “You are an artist. In more ways than I had imagined. _Own it_.”

Marcus considered the man at his side. Maria Walters’ comments haunted him. That woman had left her mark as much as Bennett and Mouse. They all had warned him to stay away from Tomas. He knew he should heed their words. However the hold Tomas had on him was strong. Was it too strong? He thought about going home tomorrow. His head seemed to clear then. “Thank you, Tomas.”

A small, sweet smile appeared before he changed the subject. “Have you given much thought to where you’ll be convalescing?”

“I’m going home. I thought that was obvious.”

“Do you really think it wise to be home alone after having surgery?”

He was up to something. Marcus deduced where this was going. However, playing coy seemed much more fun. “What do you suggest, doctor?”

“Stay with me.”

Well that was quick. “Seriously.”

“Yes. I have plenty of space. My office is just downstairs if any issues should arise during the day. Plus, as you so rightly pointed out, I am a doctor.”

“Unless there’s fun roleplaying involved, I’m not interested.”

Tomas sighed. He _would_ be difficult. A change of tactics was employed. “You don’t want to spend more time together? Outside of a hospital or without an exorcism?” He cocked his head to the right.

_Fuck me_ , Marcus thought. _He’s good. He’s_ ** _very_** _good._

So it was decided that Marcus would stay with Tomas while he finished recovering. Tomas offered to pack him a bag, but Marcus insisted on doing it himself. He agreed to let Tomas take him home so he also could check on the cats. Marcus wondered what he was letting himself in for by agreeing to live with Tomas, even if for a short time. 

The darkness was closer than ever to swallowing him whole.


	15. Chapter 15

“‘A young woman with a tragic past took her own life tonight as her sins caught up with her. Katherine Rance, 24, had been a patient at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane after accepting a plea deal once she was charged in the murder of her wife, Julia Clark, 24, and the attempted murder of Father Marcus Keane, 53, last fall at the Church of St. Peter.

“‘This reporter has learned that Father Keane had been visiting Rance when the incident occurred although he was not in the room where it happened. In fact, the woman had stabbed the priest repeatedly before leaping to her death. Once again, he has survived being attacked by this disturbed woman. Luckily, Father Keane had his very own guardian angel by his side this time. Dr. Tomas Ortega, an esteemed psychiatrist who has been keeping company with the holy man, kept the Father alive after calling 9-1-1.

“‘Perhaps if God had been keeping a closer watch over His man, Father Keane’s other bae could have saved Katherine Rance from such an unfortunate fate. With his batting record currently at oh and two, perhaps the man of God should quit while he’s behind. It certainly couldn’t make things worse.’”

Marcus was reading aloud from the Bloodhound story while riding shotgun as Tomas drove his car to Wolf Trap. 

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_. It’s amazing I’m not in prison and defrocked, let alone have any friends left.”

Tomas finally had told him about Rose’s article as they left the hospital. Marcus already was in a mood for having to use a wheelchair to exit the building. (“I’m not a _bloody_ invalid! I can use the two legs God gave me.”) 

At that point, Tomas couldn’t see the harm in adding fuel to the fire as they had about an hour’s drive ahead of them. So far, it had proved to be entertaining for the most part. Though seeing the pain behind Marcus’ agitation proved less amusing.

“We all read the story. We know the facts and we know _you_. Going to prison and losing us was never something you had to worry about. I believe Devon will continue to fight for you, but I cannot say how the Church will react to the story.”

“What do _you_ want the outcome to be?” Marcus asked, looking at Tomas’ profile.

“I want you want.” He quickly glanced at his friend in the passenger seat before returning his gaze to the road. “Do you know what you want?”

Marcus turned his head to look out the side window, elbow resting on the door as he chewed on his thumbnail. “I want to be free.”

“You _are_ free. Think of the next few days as a vacation. You have no responsibilities to anyone — only yourself.”

The blue eyes once again rested on the driver’s profile. “You _really_ think that’s possible?”

Another glance at the man sitting next to him. “Only if you believe.”

Marcus released a hearty laugh, wincing only a little.

They arrived at the house to find Marcus’ pickup parked in its usual spot. Mouse and Bennett had returned it from the BSHCI parking lot two days ago. For a moment, Marcus considered hopping in it, never to return. In that short span of time, the thought seized his imagination so thoroughly he felt his wanderlust nearly choke him in anticipation of the theoretical journey.

Tomas saw this moment play across his friend’s features and guessed at what he was thinking. “Going my way?” he asked playfully.

“What?” Marcus blinked and then chuckled when he realized what Tomas had said. “You would come.” It wasn’t a question.

“Only if I was invited.”

He could have kissed Tomas right then. He knew no resistance would be offered if he had made his move. He knew he would be kissed back and the kissing would continue, unabated, for some time. He swallowed; exhaled. He turned his gaze to the house.

“Maria Walters paid me a visit the other day,” he announced.

This was a surprise. She had been full of surprises of late. Good for her. Tomas admired her chutzpah. That’s not to say he was thrilled upon hearing the news of her meeting Marcus. “What did she say?”

“She told me to save myself.” A quick flash of a grin. “I’m starting to wonder if I should want to be saved.”

For once, Tomas didn’t have anything to add. So he focused on calming his fluttering heart. The silence between them spoke volumes. After a couple minutes had passed and his own rising heartbeat had been quelled, Tomas spoke: “‘Work out your own salvation. Do not depend on others.’”

“That Buddha is a wise man,” Marcus said, looking back at the man who had come to represent perhaps the truest forms of friendship, brotherhood and love he had ever known. “Damn good with the advice, too.”

Tomas smiled as he looked invitingly at Marcus and his lips. Another moment had presented itself. He could feel the want radiating from both of them. He desperately wanted to taste Marcus; to feel his own tongue against his. He could feel himself getting hard. This was not their moment. The warrior next to him had not yet found his strength. 

“We should go inside. Your cats, no doubt, have missed you very much.”

   


Over the next few days, Marcus made himself at home with Tomas. He moved around well enough, though he had to take his time on the stairs. There were no visitors, which is just how he preferred it. However, he wanted to see Harper and Casey soon. Tomas suggested having them over for dinner.

“I could even make duck a l’orange,” he said. 

Marcus smiled, pleased he remembered Harper’s request. “I think she’d like that very much.” 

Tomas enjoyed making Marcus happy as much he liked the idea of the four of them forming a family of sorts. Marcus texted the girls every day. They were just as eager to see him again. 

His day job was not neglected as Marcus taught via webcam. (This did not occur without _a lot_ of trial and error, and profusive cursing.) He embraced this sense of normalcy. His students joked he was giving them the longest goodbye as he hadn’t been in class as much over the past couple weeks. 

“You’re going to wish I was so sentimental when you see the final,” he told them, getting a few nervous giggles and eyerolls in return. Finals started next week, so he spent the next couple of classes making sure they were prepared.

 In the evenings after both had finished work for the day, he and Tomas had dinner in the dining room followed by conversation and time spent reading (Tomas) and sketching (Marcus) in the living room. It was the most time Tomas had ever spent in that room. Marcus usually read in bed just before falling asleep. He had agreed to share the main bedroom only after Tomas made a point about his night terrors. 

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that you have a better night’s rest with me by your side.” A look of innocence hid the longing Tomas held in his heart.

“I’ll agree if you stop butchering Jane Austen,” Marcus said teasingly. He knew what Tomas said was true. Even if he had wanted to disregard the evidence from the last time he had stayed over or when Tomas had spent the night at his house before Kat’s exorcism, he could no longer deny it after his time in the hospital. The man had a way with him. So did Maria’s words. Again when Tomas spoke, he evoked the memory of her visit.

The only people Marcus hadn’t really communicated with were Mouse and Bennett. They both had checked in with him separately, but contact had been limited. He had told each of them the same thing: He was doing well; enjoying the peace and quiet for a change. He added he was working from home so they wouldn’t be in touch as frequently. 

It worked with Bennett; not so much with Mouse. He let her calls to go voicemail, but did answer her texts. She started communicating via text only. _Smart little churchmouse_ , he thought drolly. He loved her tenacity. She was fighting like hell not to lose him. It wasn’t the first time he wondered if she already had.

   


As far as Amelia was concerned Marcus hadn’t lost her, would never lose her. A few days after he was released from the hospital and she felt he had had enough time to decompress, she decided to drive out to Wolf Trap and pay him a surprise visit. She even made a point to bring him chicken soup. Sure it was out of a can, but a) he would appreciate the joke since he knew she didn’t cook and kept sweaters in her oven and b) it was the good stuff with the red-and-white label. 

So out she drove to middle-of-nowhere Virginia in rush-hour traffic from Georgetown, no less. She drove up the long drive, smiling when she saw his familiar pickup truck parked next to the house. It was nearly sunset and storm clouds were beginning to form. Traffic had been a bitch for most of the commute. 

As she came up to the front porch, she noticed there were no lights on inside. _Odd. Maybe he’s napping._ She knocked on the front door. Nothing. No movement came from within. She knocked again louder. Still nothing. 

“Oh, you’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” She moved right to the set of windows and peered in. The curtains were drawn and the natural light was getting weaker, so seeing anything inside was impossible. “Marcus!” she called out. A mewing was given in response. 

“Deceptive little shit.” Amelia pulled out her mobile. She went to her contacts list and selected. The phone rang twice before the caller picked up.

“Amelia, what is it?” There was more concern than annoyance in his voice.

“He’s not here, Bennett. I’m at Marcus’ house and the fucking bastard isn’t here. He’s with him, I know it.”

A sigh. “Damn it, Marcus. Everybody’s wrong, but you.” To Amelia, he said: “I’ll handle it. Go home. I’ll … I’ll contact you after.”

“I’ll meet you there,” she offered.

“No. You’re too far away. I’ll be in touch.” There was a pause. “Thank you for letting me know. I do appreciate it.” He hung up before she could say anything else.

An inexplicable panic seized her after the call ended. Had she done the right thing? Yes, she had. There was no remorse there. Didn’t she owe it to Marcus to give him a heads up? In spite of everything, the answer again was yes.

“Fucking hell.” She held up her mobile and revisited her contacts list. She made her selection and waited as it rang. The call went to voicemail. “Goddammit, Marcus!” 

_Fuck him. If he was going to be a little bitch about it then he deserves Bennett’s fire and brimstone._ She put her phone back in her bag, and walked back down the porch steps and to her car. Once she was in the driver’s seat with her safety belt buckled, she sighed. Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she pulled her mobile out of her bag once more and sent Marcus a text.

“HE KNOWS.”

   


Marcus was resting on the bed before dinner at Tomas’ insistence. He was cooking a simple dinner tonight, he had said, so he wouldn’t need his sous chef. Marcus didn’t believe Tomas knew how to cook a simple dinner, let alone needed a sous chef. He was feeling a bit rundown, however, so he allowed the indulgence. 

His mobile rang. Mouse. He smiled at the thought of her calling to check up on him. He would call her tomorrow. Maybe she would be interested in dinner Sunday after he was home. With the school year coming to a close, he really needed to be back on campus. 

Tomas had admitted there was no medical need for Marcus to stay any longer since he was healing nicely, so long as he didn’t overdo it. Today he had overdone it a bit, but he had to make sure his final exam was in order; plus his students’ final papers were coming in every day ahead of that week’s deadline.

His phone buzzed alerting him he had a text message. He looked at the screen. It was from Mouse. Marcus sat up on the bed when he read it.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Marcus knew he wouldn’t make it downstairs in time, so he called Tomas’ mobile. He picked up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“They know.”

   


Tomas was in the kitchen preparing the chicken for the soup he was making for his and Marcus’ dinner. He thought his friend would appreciate the joke and looked forward to the sardonic remark he would no doubt make when he announced the dish while he served them at the dining room table. 

The recipe was his abuela’s and it had been quite awhile since he had made one of her meals. He enjoyed sharing his life with Marcus. It hadn’t been good news when he had told Tomas that morning it was time for him to go home. Tomas had understood, of course. It made sense in light of his class schedule, but he would miss the company.

He would miss _him_.

The chicken was just about to go into the pot when the doorbell rang. This surprised Tomas as they weren’t expecting company. He washed his hands in the sink and was about to walk out of the kitchen when his mobile rang. His checked the caller ID and then flicked his eyes upwards momentarily as he wondered why Marcus was calling. He picked up at the tail end of the first ring.

“Hello?” Any hope he may have harbored about this being a flirty chat was immediately squashed.

“They know.”

He hung up and took a breath, quickly considering his options. He put the mobile down on the island and walked to the vestibule, where he opened the door. “Devon.” He saw Bennett was alone as the rain started to fall. “Please. Come in.”

Bennett walked through to the living room.

“I’m in the kitchen.” Tomas said, inviting the priest to follow him. He noticed Bennett was not wearing his collar.

Bennett followed his host, eyes looking up the staircase as they passed on the off-chance Marcus would be lurking. He wondered if he was holed up on the second floor of his own volition or at Tomas’ behest. 

Once they were in the kitchen, Tomas added the chicken to the stock simmering in the pot on the stove. His attention was diverted, which may have been a bad move for anyone other than Tomas Ortega. This wasn’t his first rodeo, as they say.

“I want to speak with Marcus,” the collarless priest said.

“Anything you need to say to Marcus, you can say to me and I will relay the message,” the psychiatrist said with more than a hint of smugness. “He’s not seeing visitors presently. However, he will be home on Sunday. Perhaps you could schedule some time with him then.”

Bennett said nothing. He spied the chef’s knife resting on the cutting board used for the chicken. Tomas’ eyes followed Bennett’s, his reflection caught in the gleam of the steel. Bennett contemplated his next move. This scene was going about as well as he had imagined. Tomas looked up from the knife, staring directly at him. He was daring Bennett to make the first move. Their relationship, such as it was, had been building to this. 

Just off to his left, the prefect saw his target on the island next to the stove: a knife block. It wasn’t the smartest move, seeing as how Tomas had one of the knives in front of him, but it was his only option. He made for the block, his hand already reaching out when Tomas threw his knife. 

It sliced through the palm of Bennett’s right hand as the blade handle stuck out. While he pulled it out, Tomas leapt over the island. Bennett ripped the knife out with his left hand and swiped it at his opponent, who easily kept out of his reach. Tomas grabbed the dish towel on the counter and wrapped it around Bennett’s wrist, jerking it back at just the right angle till the other man howled in pain after both heard the snap. 

The injury didn’t stop him as he landed multiple blows on Tomas’ face and torso in quick succession. He would have got in another successful punch, but Tomas ducked and picked up the knife Bennett had dropped when his wrist broke. The priest also reached for something. Moving with a dancer’s grace, he had the towel in his left hand and around Tomas’ neck before the doctor could react. The knife fell from his fingers, clanging on the hard surface of the dark gray slate floor. 

Bennett spun around, never letting go of the towel, and pulled with all his might despite the immense pain coming from his right wrist. Tomas was face up on Bennett’s back with his feet off the floor as the other man bent over, tugging the towel over his left shoulder. The air was no longer reaching Tomas’ lungs. His face and neck were red as he gasped for oxygen. He was close to passing out.

The sound of a safety catch being released reverberated in the quiet of the kitchen.

“Let him go, Bennett.”

He turned his head to his left and saw Marcus standing just inside the kitchen with his nine-millimeter in hand and aimed at Bennett’s head. “Marcus. Stay out of it.”

“I won’t say it again,” his friend said. His blue eyes were cool and his hand steady. He knew he wouldn’t miss at this range.

Bennett let go of the towel and Tomas slid down till he was on all fours, coughing severely as the air hit his lungs once again. Then he grabbed the knife next to his right hand and inserted it into the right side of Bennett’s neck.

“Tomas!” Marcus barked.

The psychiatrist gave the man he cared for a deeply savage look, but made no other movements.

The doorbell rang once more. 

There was only one person missing from the party. 

Marcus put the safety back on and put the gun behind him in the waist of his jeans. Tomas pulled out the tie he had worn earlier that day from his right pocket. He quickly removed the knife from Bennett’s neck and tied a tourniquet using the accessory. Marcus took his old friend by his left elbow and led him back to the front door. 

Standing on the other side was Mouse as the rain pelted down. The look of horror on her face was more than Marcus could stomach. She received Bennett and turned to take him away. She glanced back at Marcus full of questions and sadness. He mirrored her sadness and shut the door.

   


Tomas had just finished cleaning up what little mess the fight had created when Marcus walked back into the kitchen. Neither said anything for a moment, which felt like it stretched out an eternity to them both.

“Tell me dinner isn’t ruined,” Marcus said sardonically, eyeing the blood splatter on the other man’s white dress shirt.

A small smile from Tomas that vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. “No. Dinner is not ruined. It should be ready in about an hour,” he said quietly.

Marcus walked over to him standing behind the island with the infamous dish towel in his scraped and bloodied hands. He got a whiff of the aroma coming from the pot on the stove. “It smells delicious.” He took the towel from Tomas’ hands and put it down on the island.

“It’s my abuela’s recipe.” He was still speaking quietly.

“You learned to cook from her?”

Tomas nodded. “She was my first teacher.”

“If you’re any indication, she must have been one hell of a cook.” His hands were holding Tomas’.

Tomas gave Marcus’ hands a firm squeeze.

“Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up,” Marcus said.

Once they were in Tomas’ bedroom, Marcus started heading to the adjoining bathroom when he felt a hand clasp his wrist. 

Tomas pulled Marcus back towards him. “Why didn’t you come down sooner? Instead of calling?”

The answer he had prepared died on his lips as soon as he opened his mouth.

Tomas said nothing, but stared into his eyes with an intensity that Marcus wanted to experience forevermore.

“I wanted to see what would happen.”

A warm smile spread across Tomas’ face as he put a hand on Marcus’ right shoulder. Pride and love swelled in his heart.

Marcus looked away from the gorgeous hazel eyes that burned into his soul to the cut on Tomas’ forehead, one of many on his face along with bruises that already were starting to form. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” he responded, not taking his eyes off Marcus.

Instinctively, Marcus cupped Tomas’ face in his hands and gently leaned forward, taking the blood away with his tongue. Tomas gripped his shoulder tighter in response. Once the blood was gone, Marcus kissed the wound. The hand on his shoulder slowly moved to the back of his neck. They were looking at each other now as Marcus’ hands slid down to Tomas’ chest; expectation and anticipation mingling, on the verge of fusing into something new.

“From the moment we met, I never could entirely predict you,” Tomas told him. “For every word, every smile, every glance I expect, there are others that slip by me. You are a beautiful chaos creating a new path for yourself that doesn’t include the breadcrumbs left by others. I want to walk it with you and see for myself where it leads; to see the new world that dawns before us.”

They stayed that way for awhile, staring at each other while they touched; their breathing synchronized. 

No words were spoken. 

It was unnecessary. 

Their bond had been forged. 

Only God could separate them now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this we have come to the end of Part 2. Thank you for reading this far! There is still more to come. Part 3 will begin shortly.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! We have reached the beginning of the end. I hope you enjoy Part 3 as much as the first two parts.
> 
> FUN FACT: Two Feet's "I Feel Like I'm Drowning" is this fic's theme song. I can't listen to it without thinking of this AU. Take a listen:  
> [I Feel Like I'm Drowning](https://youtu.be/bdCbzldHCVIl)

#  **PART 3: BECOME**

 

 

Tomas Ortega had been living with visions for twenty-five years. In the beginning, he believed them to be nightmares. He would wake up in the dark of his bedroom in Chicago short of breath and eyes wide. There was never any screaming to alert his abuela or his sister, Olivia. Once he had realized he was safe at home, he would lay back down and fall asleep. This had been happening for several months; since right before his mother died. They weren’t connected: his visions and his mother’s death. 

He knew this. 

He didn’t know how he knew this. 

He just did. 

Gradually, they had started happening at other times. He would find himself in places he never had been; watching as people with black orbs for eyes would talk to him about things for which he had no concept. Tomas had never told another soul about the things he saw. Olivia was suspicious; he never could hide anything from her. 

However, he hid this. So well did he play his part, she had stopped looking at him with concern and started teasing him like before. It was the first time he had ever successfully lied to anyone. That was the moment he learned to compartmentalize. It was then the first room of his memory palace was born. He immediately made a room for his mother. Soon, he added another for his sister and as well as one for his abuela.

In one vision he had about a week before Olivia died, Tomas was told it was good he was building all of those rooms inside himself. “Your humanity will die soon and you’ll be ripe for the pickin’.” He didn’t understand what the person who told him this meant. He didn’t like it when the people in his visions started talking to him. It was weird when what he saw played out like a movie and no one could hear him, but he soon learned it was worse when they engaged. 

As soon as the car had hit Olivia that fateful afternoon, he knew what the person had meant. He also knew none of the people who spoke to him in his visions were actually human. They were evil. They were demons. Demons like his abuela had warned him about, as well as the priests at church. Now he knew what they were, he was no longer scared of them. Now he could listen to what they had to say.

When he was in high school in Mexico, Tomas had started to realize his visions had a purpose. He had begun reading the newspaper in the mornings. He had noticed some people featured in stories in the local section looked familiar. It was for no reason he could think of, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he had seen them before. 

During his next vision of a woman sitting in a chair as a man spoke to her in a loud, powerful voice, Tomas took a good hard look at the lady. It was then he realized she was tied to the chair. He glanced back at the man and saw a white collar peeking out of the neck of his shirt. _A priest! What is he saying?_ Tomas listened. It sounded like he was speaking from the Bible. The man was older with white hair and he spoke with such authority Tomas was transfixed. In the chair, the woman roared and said vile things. “Don’t stand there, pretty. Help me!” she shrieked. It hit Tomas she was talking to him. 

A second later he was back in his math class, struggling to regroup as his teacher asked him a question. A few days later, while looking at the newspaper, he saw another familiar face staring back him in an obituary. It was the woman from his last vision. The one who had asked for help while tied to the chair. The only mention of how she had died was that it was sudden. He knew the other familiar faces he had noticed were people he had seen in his visions. 

That Sunday after services, he had described what he saw to his priest. He kept it vague, never mentioning he had had a vision. The priest had been cagey, but said it sounded like an exorcism was being performed. The man in his vision was what they called an exorcist.

The following year, he returned to Chicago as a student of Loyola University with an eye towards becoming a priest and an exorcist.

During his sophomore year, Tomas’ father came back into his life. The man had gotten in touch after learning from a friend about Tomas’ scholastic achievements during his freshman year. Tomas had froze as he read the letter in his dorm room. His first instinct was to burn the letter and forget all about it as his father had forgotten all about him and his abuela, the man’s own mother. 

The letter had contained the expected apologies for being absent; for not attending the funerals for Tomas’ mother and Olivia; for not reaching out sooner. It was empty. It meant nothing. Tomas felt nothing. This was an inconvenience that soon would be forgotten. _It shouldn’t be forgotten. None of what he did should ever be forgotten._  

He began a correspondence with his father; they traded letters throughout the school year. Christmas cards were exchanged. In the spring, an invitation was extended: “Spend a couple weeks out here in beautiful Marina Del Rey! I’ll cover all expenses. You deserve a break after working so hard.” 

It was too good to pass up. 

Tomas flew out to California a few days after spring semester classes had ended. His father lived in a bungalow not far from the beach. Wife No. 2 and their daughters would be away for a couple weeks in Europe; Italy mostly, as the twins had been dying to see Florence. Tomas had asked how he got out of going. He had insisted it be a girls’ trip. One last hurrah before the girls started their senior year of high school. This was better, his father had said. “Just us guys.”

Tomas had understood. No one knew he was there. No one knew he existed. 

The first night was uneventful. They went for a walk on the beach after dinner and talked a little. Tomas didn’t divulge too much about himself, just enough to satiate his wayward father. Nothing the man didn’t already know if he ever had talked to his mother, Tomas’ abuela. When they returned to the house, the phone was ringing. Tomas said good night as his father talked to his wife and daughters.

The next night, Tomas cooked dinner. It was his way of saying thank you. He made coq au vin, which impressed the senior Ortega greatly. The meal was delicious and afterwards they again visited the beach. They walked close to the surf along a quiet end, where few people visited. 

After roughly ten minutes, the man who had sired Tomas stumbled and fell to his knees. He began coughing up an alarming amount of blood. Looking towards Tomas for help, he received none; only a dead stare as he watched him die. This happened a couple minutes later. Tomas looked around to make sure he was alone, then walked back the way he had come. 

He had no appetite when it came to his father. He had finally exorcised that demon from his own existence. It was better if the man rotted in the ground intact or was incinerated. 

The next morning he erased all traces of his presence in the house and took a taxi to Los Angeles International Airport. There he changed his return flight to one that was leaving in a couple hours for Napa. 

He saw no point in letting a perfectly good vacation go to waste.

His father’s body was found by a couple walking their dog just as Tomas arrived at the airport. The coroner later ruled the man died of a pulmonary embolism. No one ever knew Tomas Ortega had set foot in California.

   


“Tell me about your sister.”

Marcus and Tomas were sitting outside in Tomas’ small backyard on a stone patio that was just big enough for two chairs on either of a round table. 

Seven weeks had passed since the night of the kitchen brawl. It was late June and the air was warm as clouds hugged a quarter moon. The evening was getting on, but neither was in a hurry to part company. Marcus was feeling sentimental. Casey was graduating high school tomorrow. 

Thinking of her led him to wonder about Tomas’ Olivia. So here he was on a summer night asking his friend about his dead sister. Tomas indulged his question. He hadn’t talked about her to anyone in years and there was no one in the world he would share her with other than Marcus.

“She was a spitfire,” he said as a slow smile spread across his face. “She was my protector ... my tormentor … my best friend.”  The light in his features faded a bit. “I never told her about my visions. Never told her how a demon warned me of her death. I didn’t know that’s what it meant at the time, but it doesn’t change anything.” 

He chuckled. “She once yelled at our abuela for smacking my behind when I hadn’t cleaned my room. Our mother was in the hospital dying, essentially, and Olivia.…” The smile was back. “Olivia, she tore out of my room when she found me crying while rubbing my swollen ass and she smacked our abuela right on her own. ‘Don’t you _ever_ hit my brother again!’ she told her. ‘I _dare_ you to try it on me.’ Our abuela never struck me again.”

“I would have liked Olivia.”

Tomas looked at him, the smile never wavering. “You would have _loved_ her. And she you.”

Marcus grinned. “I’m flattered you think so.”

“There’s no thinking required. I know her as I know you.”

They held their gaze for a long moment. 

“Shall I get you another refill?” Tomas asked, breaking the spell. He was referring to Marcus’ empty glass.

“You spoil me. Yes, please.”

Tomas’ smile turned into a devilish grin before he walked back into the house with both of their empty Pilsner glasses.

Marcus stretched out his long form; his legs extended before him, crossed at the ankles, and his head tipped back to look at the inky blue-black sky. After a few minutes, he sighed.

“What is it?” Tomas had returned with their beverages refreshed. 

“I don’t know,” Marcus admitted. “It’s just so … _nice_.”

“Que?”

He lolled his head towards Tomas, who had placed both of their glasses on the table and sat back down. “This. Everything the past few weeks.” He paused. “Well, almost everything.”

“Bennett and Amelia.”

Marcus didn’t respond. Instead he drank from his glass and let his head roll back once more as he returned to his skygazing.

Bennett hadn’t spoken to Marcus since that night in the kitchen. The exorcist had left a few messages and sent a few more texts, but the radio silence endured. He knew from Mouse that Bennett had gotten to the emergency room and was treated within a few hours. They kept him overnight as a precaution. (“Translation, they didn’t want a priest to die from sepsis,” Mouse had said to Marcus.) 

Bennett was released the next day, but a week without a word and he could take a hint. Six weeks later and Marcus regretted the way things had gone down with him. He knew he couldn’t change it. In truth, he wouldn’t have done anything differently. He was just sorry it cost him a dear friend.

Mouse was a different story.

She and Marcus didn’t go out with a whimper, but with a bang.

It had happened a few weeks ago when she finally told him she had been working with Rose Cooper. The two women actually were friends now. Their dustup over the Kat Rance exorcism story had blown over after a few days. They had left some emotional bruises on each other, but those were forgotten as they had faded. Now they were thick as thieves. 

Marcus had felt his stomach drop out of him as he it occurred to him he now knew how Bennett had felt regarding his own relationship with Tomas. It was a horrible feeling, which is why he had lashed out just like Bennett. Mouse didn’t go down without a fight. She didn’t go down at all. She stormed out of Marcus’ house after they verbally tore into each other for a good ninety minutes. Every last scrap of information they had on each other was used in an ugly battle that eviscerated a nearly twenty-year friendship.

That night, he had had one of the worst bouts of night terrors ever. He had dreamt he and Mouse were sitting at his kitchen table. They were talking over coffee when Marcus got up and went over to the sink. When he came back, she had blood pouring out of her stomach as it came through her dress. There were stab wounds across her lower abdomen.

 “How could you do this to me?” she asked. “We were friends. I didn’t _want_ to lose you. Is this because I couldn’t bring you back?” 

“This is because I didn’t _want_ to be brought back.” He stuck his hand inside her chest and removed her bloody, still-beating heart. “Bon appetit.”

Marcus had woken up soaked to the bone; his heart pounding. He was shaking and having trouble breathing. Slowly, he had begun to adjust to his surroundings. He was at home in the makeshift bedroom across from the living room. The cats were there: one in a chair, the other on the floor. Winston was on the floor. He lifted his head and yawned at the commotion. Buster never moved from his spot in the chair. 

Once Marcus had his bearings, he got up and went into the kitchen, peeling off his tank top and throwing it on the floor next to the pile of dirty laundry along the way. When he was at the sink, he saw he had grabbed his mobile. He put it down on the counter and stuck his head under the faucet, letting the cold water soak his head. Once the water had stopped, he had leaned over the sink and let the droplets hit the stainless steel basin. 

His shoulders had begun to shake and his knees buckled. He had turned around and slid down till he was sitting on the floor; his arms wrapped his legs, which were drawn towards him. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the image of him holding Mouse’s heart in his hand while she looked at him questioningly. The tears streamed down his cheeks. He rested his head against his knees as he sobbed.

Now he felt Tomas’ hands on him. One on his left forearm, the other on the curve of his shoulder. 

“Marcus.”

The older man blinked twice and turned his head to look at his friend, who was kneeling at his side. “I’m here.”

“Mouse and the heart?”

He nodded.

Tomas took his left hand from Marcus’ shoulder and caressed his cheek. “The guest room or mine?”

“Yours.”

Upstairs in bed, Tomas held him until Marcus fell asleep. He knew the loss of Bennett and Amelia would be hard on his friend, but he hadn’t truly calculated the impact of their removal from his life. Marcus still had Harper and Casey, but he had known the others for decades. 

Never truly having real friends of his own put Tomas at a disadvantage. Knowing Marcus gave him some insight he previously didn’t have. He instinctively held him tighter. Marcus snuggled even closer. _So much intimacy without sex._ He began to think of what it would be like once their relationship reached that level. _Imagine the possibilities._  

He fell asleep with the man he loved in his arms and dreamt of the future he wanted more than anything.


	17. Chapter 17

Rose opened her front door to find a smiling Amelia holding a bag of muffins and a carrier with two styrofoam cups of coffee. The reporter laughed. “Get in here, dork.” 

She took the coffee from her friend as they hugged. They headed outside to their usual spot, the picnic table where they had their first meal the day Amelia dove headfirst into the darkness that is Tomas Ortega. 

Situating themselves on top of the table and using the bench as a footrest, they tore into their breakfasts. They chatted about everyday topics, such as the news; a cute dress Amelia had her eye on; a book Rose was reading that she thought Amelia would really enjoy. They made plans to see the latest Isabelle Huppert film as both were huge fans of the French actress. 

Then the conversation took a turn.

“Casey Rance graduates high school today,” Rose said.

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Covering graduations for Bloodhound now?”

Rose laughed. “God, no. There’s no story, don’t worry. I just wondered if you were going.”

“Why?” the psychologist asked, taking a sip of her coffee. “I barely know her.”

“I thought maybe since you were all Team Marcus at the hospital, she might have extended an invitation.”

Amelia put down her cup; her eyes narrowed. “What’s this about?”

Rose shrugged, not looking at the person sitting next to her as she popped a piece of cinnamon chip muffin into her mouth. Eventually, her eyes met Amelia’s and she exhaled. “I feel guilty, okay? Like I’m the reason for your bust up with Marcus. Ugh. I hate that I feel this way. It’s so stupid.”

“Hey!” Amelia took her hand. “ _That_ had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the path he’s currently on. You _were_ collateral damage though. I’m sorry about that. Don’t hate how you feel. Whatever you’re feeling is valid.” She contemplated her friend. “Are we okay?”

Rose was surprised. “ _We’re fine._ How are you doing, by the way? I hate to bring it up, but since I’m your only friend now, I feel it’s my duty.” She had a rueful grin on her lips.

“Bitch.” Amelia was wearing a similar grin. “I’m mourning, to be honest. I haven’t given up on him completely. I’m so angry at him right now yet I can’t stop fighting for him. Bennett feels the same. Marcus has lost himself.”

“That man does not deserve you,” Rose said with a shake of her head. “He hasn’t lost himself, he’s just crawled so far up Tomas’ ass he can’t be bothered. I kinda hate to say it, but you need to hear it.”

Amelia tore off a piece of her banana nut muffin and chewed on it longer than was necessary.

“Speaking of The Dark One,” the reporter said, steering to a less sensitive topic, “apparently his _psychiatrist_ bailed on him while Marcus was in the hospital. She was mostly retired, save for one patient. Her husband died three years ago; apparently of natural causes.”

“Who is this devil whisperer? I’m guessing by your tone you’re not buying the cause of death.”

“Maria Walters and no. Not entirely. She has ties to Tomas and I don’t trust that he wasn’t involved somehow. Does her name ring a bell?”

Amelia shook her head. “I don’t think she’s ever been published, but I could be wrong. I can ask around, if you want. It’s possible someone at Georgetown will have heard of her.”

“Can’t hurt. I’ll do some more digging, but so far she’s clean. She and the dead hubby were on a bunch of committees — including one for the Archdiocese of Baltimore.”

“You think you can link her to the exorcisms,” Amelia said as she polished off the rest of her muffin.

Rose smiled as if she just swallowed a canary. “I think there definitely could be a connection.”

“Sounds like you have a busy day ahead of you. I’ll let you get it to it.” She left the picnic table, brushing any crumbs off her blue-and-white wrap dress.

“Will I see you later?”

Amelia smiled. “Try and keep me away.” She kissed Rose lightly on the lips at first, but gave a deeper one when she felt Rose pull her closer. 

They had been together for a few weeks. Not long after their fight, each had noticed a shift in their relationship. Neither had liked the silence that followed. Rose’s pride had prevented her from calling though she had wanted to very much. Amelia finally called about a week after their blow up to apologize. Rose had asked to came over. 

Once they saw each other again, it had all happened so easily and so quickly they were in bed before they had time to process anything. No labels. Not now. It may not last, so they were just enjoying it for as long as they could.

   


Bennett parked his car a block away from the park. He needed to get out of the basement of St. Peter’s, where he had been holed up since he got out of the hospital. The stab wounds were healing nicely though he would have a couple small scars. His hand was still stiff, but there was no nerve damage. The knife also managed to avoid any arteries in his neck. The perks of being in a fight with a doctor.

When asked what had happened, he had kept to the truth as much as possible. He had avoided filing a police report. No, he didn’t see his attacker. He was lucky his friend found him when she did. Amelia had vouched his story to the best of her ability. They were in it together now. 

He had been in constant meetings with Bishop Egan and other high-ranking members of the Archdiocese in the wake of Katherine Rance’s suicide. No one was faulting the work done; just trying to limit the damage in light of the Rose Cooper article, which had been picked up by local media outlets. In truth, neither he nor Marcus had been cited. They had saved the girl. What she did with her life after that was not of their concern, though the result _was_ tragic. 

The family wasn’t pressing charges. They were grateful for the help the Church had provided in ridding their oldest daughter of the demon. Marcus and Bennett were heroes. Heroes in secret though. No parades were to be thrown. No celebrations were to be given. They barely received a pat on the back. They had done their jobs. What more could they possibly want? This line of work was considered an act of charity and piety. They were doing the Lord’s work, after all. 

Besides, they may lose the next one. 

Best not to enjoy the moment too much. 

Honestly, it was the best outcome Bennett could have expected. He was feeling relieved and dare he say optimistic when the bishop had said something that had caught his attention. 

It wasn’t a declaration. No one else would have given the comment a second thought. Devon Bennett wasn’t no one. He was the prefect of papal outreach and security. He was paid to pick up things other people would ignore or not realize were of import. His job was to protect his charge. Normally, this would be His Holiness. Now it was Marcus fucking Keane. 

In spite of everything, he had tried to save Bennett from Tomas. It wasn’t his fault the former priest stabbed him in the neck in retaliation. In that moment, Bennett had seen his friend was still present. It was a sign from God he still could be saved. Tomas had possessed Marcus in a way Bennett had never before witnessed. Their bond was dark and unholy as far as he was concerned. A notion further confirmed by Bishop Egan. 

“You have done good work in the Katherine Rance case. You have served the Church well. While it is unfortunate she chose to end her life, you will not be held responsible. She was of sound mind and body when she made her decision.” He made a sign of the cross before continuing. “All of you are commended on a job well done. On a more personal note, I still have no word as to when you will be recalled, Father Bennett. I know you are restless, but have faith … in His Holiness _and_ in our Father.”

It was that one little three-letter word that had stuck in Bennett’s craw. _All of you_. Egan knew about Tomas. He thought back to their earlier conversation with Marcus ahead of Kat’s exorcism. _Take whomever you need to expedite this affair_. Egan had said that explicitly to Marcus. In his memory, he could see the subtle look of surprise on Marcus’ face. Bennett knew this was when Marcus had learned Egan was aware of their third wheel. 

This potentially changed everything. He wondered how widespread was the knowledge of Tomas’ activities. Was the Church unofficially sanctioning him? With his power and skills, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. This terrified Bennett. He wasn’t naive. He knew the Church wasn’t beyond reproach when it came to unsavory events. This, however…. This was on a scale beyond his comprehension. He had every intent on learning what he could. 

After he had returned to his post following his brief hospital stay, Bennett laid low in his basement office during the day. He made sure to not conduct any investigation into Tomas on or with Church property. That was left for the most part to Rose Cooper, who had offered her services as an olive branch. He knew she would post every last piece of evidence they found — and a few they didn’t — on her website and he was fine with that. He was running out of patience and quickly approaching the point where he gave zero fucks. However, he wasn’t there yet. They still needed to be careful; especially now.  

As he walked into the park now, he found Amelia waiting for him on a nearby bench. It was late morning and the humidity already had begun creeping in. She smiled when she saw him. They had been on much better terms of late. Their friendship had taken root in recent weeks. One of the good things to come from the fallout of their relationships with Marcus had been the solidification of their own. He also was aware Amelia was seeing Rose. The three of them had become allies in the war against the devil in their midst. He gave a muted grin in return before sitting next to her.

“Uh oh. Has someone had a dressing down in the principal’s office?”

“No.”

“Conspiracy got you down?”

He shot her a side glance. “Someone’s chipper.”

“It doesn’t invalidate your sense of doom though.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

She suppressed a laugh into a bright smile, barely trapping it within. Seeing how burdened he felt, she put a hand on his shoulder. “Wanna walk?”

Part of him just wanted to sit on the bench and mope, but he couldn’t bare the thought of actually doing it. So he nodded. They walked along the path as kids ran rampant on the nearby grass and in the playground a few yards off. People laid on the grass reading and were setting out picnic lunches.

Summer brought out the community, especially when the weather was as gorgeous as it was on this day. Seeing everybody enjoying themselves in this man-made natural setting warmed Bennett’s heart and did wonders for his mood. This is what they were fighting to protect. Marcus was the more immediate focus, but really Bennett, Amelia and Rose were trying to save the innocent. 

It sounded grandiose and a bit melodramatic even to him. However, he was past feeling melancholic.

“So it appears Tomas’ psychiatrist has flown the coop,” Amelia began. “Maria Walters? She was on a number of community boards, including one for the Archdiocese of Baltimore.”

“I’m familiar with the name. Her husband died a few years ago. What does it matter?”

“Rose thinks the husband’s death was not natural causes as indicated on the final report. She also thinks Maria and Tomas are connected when it comes to his exorcisms; like maybe Maria passed along names of potential possession victims.”

Bennett looked at her as they continued to walk. “That would explain how Bishop Egan knew about him.”

“Wait. What?” Amelia stopped and put her hand on his upper arm. “How long have you been sitting on this?

“Not long. It was conjecture on my part. _Still is_ ,” he added pointedly.

“Does Marcus know?” she asked, ignoring his tone.

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

They resumed their course, moving in silence as the sounds of those around them filled the air with joy, the occasional annoyed parent or upset child notwithstanding. Both were at a loss for words. After a long stretch, Amelia spoke a truth neither of them had admitted to knowing before now.

“They’re in love.”

“Whether they know it or not is the question.” It pained Bennett to acknowledge it as much as it did Amelia. There was no going back now.

“Tomas knows,” she said. “I think he’s known from the beginning. I’ve heard the way he talks about him. It’s beautiful, really.”

“Marcus doesn’t know,” he replied. “Not fully. He knows they have a connection; that he’s drawn to him in ways he doesn’t understand.”

Amelia put her hand on his back in a bid to offer him comfort. She knew it wasn’t enough, but it was all she could give.

“I hear Casey Rance graduates high school today,” she mentioned, changing the subject to hopefully something brighter.

That news received a small smile from the priest. “That may be the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Come on,” she said, steering him towards the nearest exit. “We’re going to a bar. It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

   


“You came!”

Casey wrapped her arms around Marcus’ waist as he took her into his arms. 

The graduation had gone off without a hitch. She had given her salutatorian address, which got a very enthusiastic response from a certain section of the bleachers where family members were seated. “What can I say? Always travel with an entourage,” she had quipped. 

The enthusiasm from her squad was unbridled when she stepped back on stage later to accept her diploma and switch her tassel from one side of her cap to the other. She had loved every moment of it. Once the ceremony was over, she had scanned the crowd as best she could to find her family, but everyone wanted to congratulate her and take photos. Finally, she had gotten a peek at a tall, gangly man with close-cropped dark blonde hair and the young girl with red hair standing beside him. She had excused herself and, once she was close enough, ran over to them.

“Of course, we came!” Marcus replied. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

Casey let go of Marcus and set her sights on the ginger miss beside him. “Harper!” 

They embraced. The girls had grown close over the weeks since Marcus’ hospital stay. They were always texting each other and hung out at least once per week. They had started to think of each other as sisters. Harper would never replace Kat in Casey’s heart, but there was room for them both. When they parted, Harper handed the graduate a small gift bag.

“What’s this?” Casey asked, genuinely surprised. “You didn’t have to get me anything!”

“It’s from both of us,” Harper said as she glanced up at Marcus, beaming.

“She picked it out,” Marcus admitted.

Casey was touched. She truly hadn’t expected a present, but couldn’t deny how excited she was to find out what her friends had gotten her. “Shall I open it?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“If you want,” Harper said, playing it cool.

“I want.” Casey pulled a small felt jewelry box out of the bag, which Harper held while she opened the box. She gasped. “You guys!” There were tears in her eyes. Inside was a silver, open-heart necklace; half the heart was covered in clear stones. “I want to wear this so much right now, but I don’t want anything to happen to it at the afterparty.”

The high school was throwing a post-graduation party for the senior class at a country club in the area later that evening. Casey couldn’t wait to celebrate with her friends, but a small part of her wanted nothing more than a lowkey hangout with Harper and Marcus.

“You can wear it tomorrow night at dinner,” Harper suggested.

Casey grinned. “You know what? You’re right.”

“You’re okay with coming?” Marcus asked, slightly concerned.

“Why wouldn’t she be?!” Harper demanded.

The graduate laughed. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” she said mockingly to Marcus.

“Can I go say ‘hi’ to the Rances?” Harper asked her de facto guardian.

Marcus returned the wave Angela and Henry gave him. “Go on, Monkey.”

Once Harper was out of earshot, Casey looked at Marcus. “I’m fine. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I don’t. _I trust you._ You would never purposely put me or Harper in a dangerous situation.”

She had told Marcus what Bennett had said to her in the hospital waiting room the day Marcus was discharged. It wasn’t planned. They were just talking one night at her parents’ house after they had invited him over for dinner. 

She had asked him about his relationship with Tomas. He had struggled with an adequate response and her heart broke for him. Marcus Keane was one of the best men she knew. If he felt that strongly about someone, they couldn’t be so bad. She understood Father Bennett had his heart in the right place, but she was standing with her friend. 

So she told him every word. With the end of the school year, Casey had been too busy to spend time with Tomas and get to know him. She was curious, eager even, to meet the man who spurred such divisive reactions.

“Never,” he responded looking a bit wounded that such an idea even crossed her mind.

“ _Exactly_.” The warmth with which she looked at him — the love that was explicit — made Marcus blush. She laughed and looked over at her parents and Harper, who were calling to them. “Uh oh. Picture time.”

“No.” He looked positively scared.

“The big bad exorcist afraid of his getting photo taken?” She was enjoying this so much. “All the more reason why you’re doing it. Face your fears, Marcus!” 

Casey pulled him over to their group. Angela had shanghaied a fellow parent into taking a couple photos of all of them. Henry thanked the man afterward and then took photos of Angela and Casey; Angela, Casey and Harper; Casey and Harper; Casey, Harper and Marcus; Harper and Marcus; and, finally, Casey and Marcus. Angela, who had taken a photo of Henry and Casey, promised to email out copies in the next day or two. 

As they talked, laughed and reminisced, they were oblivious to the man who watched them by the bleachers. He was bald at the top of his head with graying hair and wore an ill-fitted dark brown suit that hung off him. He didn’t belong at the ceremony. He had no kids. His wife was dead. So was the man whose ticket he had used. The body stuffed into the trunk of the man in the suit’s car.

He watched the tall, gangly man with the close-cropped dark blonde hair and the two girls he clearly loved very much as he interacted with the middle-aged couple. Originally, he had coveted the youngest girl. Her death would have brought such glorious devastation to the blonde man. 

They had come into the store during his shift. It was too perfect. He had watched them interact. Such love. Such devotion. When they started browsing in his department, he had been only too happy to help. The girl had lovely taste. She had said the necklace was for her sister. _She will be a lovely corpse,_ he had thought. But it was the grief he had thirsted. It was the father’s lifeforce. Then, his plan changed. 

Another man had joined them. He had black hair, a beard and was well-dressed. She called him Tomas. The voice in his head got excited. It was him. Tomas Ortega. The Chesapeake Ripper. _Watch how he looks at the blonde man. He is who you want. Not the girl. He will be the one to tear out the Ripper’s soul._ So the salesman asked if it was the sister’s birthday. The girl said her sister was graduating high school this evening. A quick search after they had left had given him the name of the high school. The rest was easy. 

It wouldn’t happen now.

Too many witnesses.

Soon.

   


Tomas was in his office as he finished writing notes in his journal on his final patient of the day when he was struck by a vision. 

There were woods. 

A house gradually came into view. 

It was night; a full moon hung high in the sky. 

He heard a scream. 

A familiar face was covered in blood. 

He could barely stand. 

Tomas came out of it almost as quickly as he had entered.

“Marcus.”

He didn’t know the location of what he had seen. The only thing he knew was something was coming for them. 

For Marcus. 

Tomas’ face became dark as if storm clouds had rolled in. _Nothing_ would take his friend away from him. May God have mercy on whatever attempted such a reckless act because he would offer none. He had heard whispers of what the demons called him. They only feared one man. 

The Chesapeake Ripper would wreak his vengeance should any attack against Marcus occur. He would take great delight in exorcising every demon that crossed his path.

As it said in Hebrews 10:30, “For we know him who said, ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ and again, ‘The Lord will judge his people.’”

God had nothing on Tomas Ortega.


	18. Chapter 18

The scene unfolding in Tomas’ kitchen was one of domestic bliss. Casey and Harper arrived in the late afternoon so the younger girl could be their host’s sous chef as they made duck a l’orange. She had been talking about it all week; even on the car ride over after Casey arrived to pick her up. Casey thought Harper and her enthusiasm for her assignment were adorable. 

When Tomas opened the front door, it was all Harper could do to not run straight for the kitchen — even if she wasn’t a hundred percent certain where it was located. She politely followed him to their workspace; pausing only to give Marcus, who was waiting in the living room, a hug hello. As they made their way to the kitchen, Marcus told Casey he was surprised she was upright considering she had celebrated her graduation into the wee hours of the morning. 

“I woke up ninety minutes ago,” she said ruefully, styrofoam cup of coffee in hand. “Harper has been so excited. She would have been here first thing this morning if she had had her way.”

“You’re a good big sister,” he told her.

“I _do_ rock, don’t I?” she replied with a grin before taking a sip from her cup.

When they caught up with the two cooks, Harper was standing behind the island near the stove. Tomas was walking her through what he had done previously to ready the birds. The day before he had prepared the ducks with a marinade of star anise, caraway seeds and orange juice. Once the ducks had marinated in the refrigerator for eight hours, he had removed them from the marinade, patted them dry inside and out, and discarded the marinade. Next, he arranged the ducks so they sat on a rack over a roasting pan. He then returned them to the refrigerator for another twenty-four hours, only removing them two hours prior. The birds had been in the oven roasting for the past hour-and-a-half.

“He’s really good with her,” Casey whispered to Marcus as they sat together in the leather lounge chair — Casey in the seat with Marcus perched on the right arm — in the corner of the kitchen.

Marcus winked at her with a smile on his face.

Fifteen minutes later, Tomas tilted the ducks over a bowl Harper held over the sink to drain the liquid from the cavities. He put them back on the rack afterwards to prick the skin in order to release the fat and baste them with the fat from the pan. This had to be done every forty-five minutes. 

Now it was time for the sous chef to shine.

Harper gathered the ingredients for the sauce with minor instruction from Tomas as to what was located where. Once the ingredients were assembled, they got to work. They combined the sugar and lemon juice, letting it simmer until it was lightly caramelized. She stirred in the duck stock, orange juice, Grand Mariner, shallot, orange zest, cloves and cinnamon. After the sauce had thickened while it simmered under his supervision, she seasoned it with sherry vinegar and sea salt. Tomas showed her how to strain the sauce through a sieve before they served it with the ducks.

The foursome gathered in the dining room to enjoy the magnificent meal Tomas had created with an able assist from Harper. 

His one regret, he admitted as they finished, was they couldn’t enjoy the feast outside as his backyard was too small. Casey told him it wasn’t where the meal was eaten, but with whom. He nodded and smiled his gratitude. She smiled back; then stole a glance at Marcus, who sat across from her and to the left of Tomas, and gave him a wink. 

Tomas announced there was lemon sorbet for dessert and they would have it outside. Harper’s eyes grew wide at the thought of more sous chef duties. She had so much fun earlier, she was eager for more assignments. Alas, the sorbet had been pre-made by Tomas the night before. He promised they would make it together next time. A big toothy grin from her followed. Tomas stood to collect the dishes. Casey joined him and insisted on helping with the cleanup since she was useless in the kitchen otherwise. Marcus took Harper outside into the backyard so they wouldn’t be in the way of the others.

As Tomas washed and Casey dried the pans, dishes and silverware, they chatted about her future plans now college was only a couple months away. She had an internship lined up with a publishing house that was due to start in a few days and last till just before she left for Dartmouth at the end of August. Her declared major was economics with a minor in women’s, gender and sexuality studies. She was really looking forward to the opportunities and experiences college would bring. They had just finished putting away everything when Casey asked a question.

“What are your intentions toward Marcus?”

This caught Tomas unawares. It wasn’t a normal occurrence. As a result, both the question and its effect raised his estimation of her. “I have nothing but the best of intentions when it comes to Marcus.”

She studied him for a bit. He seemed genuine, but in spite of everything, she still could hear Bennett’s warning echoing in the far reaches of her mind. “I sincerely hope that’s true.”

He narrowed his eyes as he tried to figure out the cause of her hesitation. It didn’t take him long. “Devon. He said something to you.”

Quickly, she look down at the island and back at him. “He did.”

“Does Marcus know?”

“He does. It’s why I need to know.”

Tomas held her gaze. “I would never—”

“Are you the reason he was in the hospital? I know my sister was the weapon, but were you the hand?”

_Clever girl._ “Yes.”

“Why?” She wasn’t going to look away. She was going to stare into the darkness until something stared back. She had a feeling she wouldn’t have long to wait.

“Compassion.”

“What did you say to her?”

Tomas suspected she didn’t know everything. The fact she had pieced together as much as she had was impressive. He was growing more fond of her with every passing moment. _I understand what Marcus sees in her. She will do well at Dartmouth and beyond._  

_______________________________

Tomas took Kat into his arms and held her as she cried into his shoulder. She was terrified of the demon that had taken possession of her and the momentarily relief she received had caused her to break down. They were within his memory palace in a recreation of his office. The demon at bay for now. She was sitting in one of the chairs as he knelt before her. While she was in his arms, he whispered into her ear. 

“You may feel lost once you are back in control of your body. The memories of what you have done may haunt your mind. The guilt of those actions may flood your conscience. You must not let that happen. You have done nothing wrong. Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“Good. However, if you feel you truly cannot cope with what has come to pass, know that no judgment will fall upon you. You are redeemed. You are forgiven. You are loved. Will you remember that?”

“Yes.”

“The dayroom on the third floor is one of only a few rooms in the hospital without enmeshed wire in the window panes. It will shatter with enough force. Now save yourself. Kill them all.”

He let her go. “It was nice meeting you, Kat.”

“Same.”

_______________________________

Casey stared at him in horror. She couldn’t have heard what she had just heard. She was in shock. Her body felt numb. _How could he have told her that?_ _That was cruel._ She wasn’t sure what she had expected to hear, but nothing could have been worse than that.

“Casey?” Tomas was looking at her, trying to gage if she had gone into shock or perhaps may pass out. “I know how it sounds, but I wanted her to make up her own mind on how she should proceed with her life. Things would have been very different and very difficult for her. The hospital would have been the best place for her, but I don’t believe she would have seen it the same way.”

“‘Compassion.’ That’s what you call what you did?” Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.

“What would you call it?” he asked quietly.

Her mind was spinning. She thought about what he had said to Kat; could feel herself understanding his side of it. Then five words screamed in her head.

“‘Save yourself. Kill them all.’ That’s not compassion.” Her voice had an edge to it now. She could feel herself getting angry.

“Isn’t it? If she felt so overwhelmed by feeling she couldn’t function as well as you or I, would you rather she drown in those thoughts and emotions? I gave her the permission she would later seek to do what she had to in order to find peace. That, to me, is compassion.”

_Fuck._ The tears were now falling freely. She wiped them absentmindedly. Her heart broke at the thought of Kat in such pain. He may have done what was best for her, but she hated him for it. She hated him for allowing Kat to think it was okay to slice open Marcus. She hated him for being honest with her. 

He handed her a clean dish towel. It was an olive branch of sorts. She ripped it from his hand and wiped her eyes, not turning away. What was the point? There weren’t any secrets between them now. 

She had read the stories on Bloodhound. She knew what Rose Cooper thought of him because she had told her. The reporter was waiting for her by her car in the school parking lot after a lacrosse match a few weeks ago. Thinking of this led her to clear the air between them. They had come this far, after all.

“You shouldn’t be performing exorcisms and you remove the organs from those you think are bad. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.” She resumed her laser beam gaze.

“You’ve been talking to Rose Cooper.”

“Actually, she did most of the talking. I thought she was psychotic. Now, I see differently.” She saw Tomas was about to ask a question. “No,” she said, cutting him off. “Marcus doesn’t know. But see, that’s not true either. He knows about you, doesn’t he?”

An amused smile appeared on his lips. “Yes.”

Marcus was a grown man capable of making his own decisions. He seemed to be going into this relationship with Tomas with his eyes open. Casey knew none of this was normal, but what was normal? It was subjective as far as she could tell.

“Just duck?” She was referring to the dinner they had just consumed.

“Just duck.”

“Everything okay in here?”

Casey and Tomas looked over at Marcus, who was standing inside the kitchen with his hands in the pockets of his trademark black skinny jeans.

She looked at their host. “I think we’ve got it sorted.”

Walking over to Marcus, she suggested they go outside while Harper and Tomas prepare the lemon sorbet to be served. The four of them sat out in the open air eating their chilled dessert. Later, as the sun sank lower in the sky, Tomas watched as Marcus, Casey and Harper chased each other around the small yard, laughing and smiling. _This is what it feels like to have a family._ He had forgotten. It felt good. It felt right. He played it over in his memory once everyone had gone home.

The scene unfolding in Tomas’ backyard was one of domestic bliss. He wanted many more scenes just like it to play out in his future.

   


It was late; nearly half-past one in the morning. 

Darkness enshrouded the alley behind the bar, save for a light that was attached to the building where The Salesman waited impatiently. He scratched the top of his balding head and looked up at the video camera. The surveillance system had been psychically shorted out for the time being. It would be repaired in the same fashion once the meeting was over. Witnesses were bad for business. 

He heard footsteps approaching to his right. The young man who walked up to him had brown hair, was in his late-twenties and six-foot-four with a solid, muscular build. 

It was a volunteer who thirsted for revenge against The Ripper for exorcising its brother five years ago from a ripe little boy. Now it had integrated with a former patient of Tomas’ named Christopher Osborne. A hand shot out, gesturing for the information packet The Salesman held. He handed it over.

Osborne opened the small manilla envelope. “Is this him?” he said, looking at a printout of a still taken from the security camera at the department store where The Salesman worked.

“Yes. He lives alone. It should be an easy job.” He didn’t want to say anything that would jeopardize his plan. If this didn’t work out, he would do the job himself. For now, he wanted to stay as removed as possible from The Ripper’s reach. He had a job of his own waiting, regardless.

“This is him,” Osborne said recognizing the man in the photo. “The Old Gray Lion.” He snorted. “The Chesapeake Ripper and The Old Gray Lion? Are you fucking kidding me?! I don’t have a death wish, old man. Separately they’re bad enough, but if those have two teamed up.... I mean, I’ve heard the rumors, but I thought it was just boogeyman stuff.”

The Salesman could sense he was losing him. He couldn’t afford for him to pussy out now. “Kill _him_ ,” he jabbed at the photo, “and you weaken The Ripper enough to end him. Unless you would rather he live long enough to reunite you with your brother.”

Osborne gave him an icy stare. Would anyone really miss this pissant if he were to die right here, right now? He doubted it. This douche was just another worker bee trying to get with the queen by making a name for himself. Then again, why shouldn’t _he_ get the credit? “Well, when you put it like that….” Osborne returned the photo and closed the envelope. “When?”

“I want Marcus Keane dead within thirty-six hours.”

The young man gave a curt nod. “Consider it done.” 

He turned and walked back the way he came.

The Salesman watched him go. He checked his watch. Time to separate a newlywed couple. He took great pleasure from making that one vow a reality. _Till death do us part._ Why would you tempt fate like that?


	19. Chapter 19

There were two lights still on: one in the living room and the other from the porch. It was the following night, just after ten.

With the thermal rifle scope, Osborne could make out one figure moving around with a couple cats milling about the floor. He had a clear shot. The thermal scope went in an outside pocket on his vest. He picked up the bolt-action rifle and checked again through its scope. As soon as he had, the shot was lost. Osborne exhaled. He wasn’t in rush. He had all night.

Marcus walked into the living room from the kitchen with a cold bottle of beer in his hand. Winston and Buster looked up at him as he passed them on his way to the chair. He smiled and sat back down, picking up his book as he did so.

He was back to sketching in his Bible. Actually, it was a new one Tomas had gifted him while he had been recuperating at the townhouse. The memory made Marcus pause before he picked up his charcoal and resumed his work. His fingers were stained black at the pads and around the nails. He smiled as he looked at them. Before the hospital, It had been some time since he had focused on his drawing. It was good to be back at it.

Suddenly, Buster arched his back and made a low, gutteral sound in his throat. Winston followed suit a second later. Marcus got up to look out the window and narrowly missed the bullet aimed for his head by ducking the second he heard it strike through the glass.

He turned the lamp off and, staying low, did the same for the porch light. It was quiet. Seconds stretched out, making him feel as if time had slowed down. He dove for the shotgun he kept under the bed and checked to make sure it was loaded — it was. Grabbing the box of shells, he put as many as he could in the front pockets of his jeans.

Before now, he only had used the gun to scare off the occasional wild animal or put one of them out of its misery should he find it injured beyond care. Hunting the most dangerous game in a bid for survival was not something with which he had experience.

Then again, he had been having a lot of new experiences over the past year.

Marcus pumped the shotgun and got up; weapon at the ready. He stood so he had eyes on the front door, as well as the window to the left of the bed. Ten seconds later, the window exploded as someone came crashing through.

The intruder took a slug in the upper left thigh before he spun his rifle around and slammed the butt into Marcus’ left temple. From the floor, Marcus took the double barrel of his shotgun, blood trickling down the side of his head, and punched it straight into the assailant’s wound. A howl came out, reverberating into the blackness of the room.

The priest who had spent his formative years learning how to survive the beatings by using his fists (among other body parts) now was putting his pugilistic skills to work. Decades of rage coursed through his veins. He channeled it all into this moment.

His opponent pulled out a knife, but Marcus saw it when the moonlight that poured through the space where the window had been reflected off the blade. He dodged the knife, then locked the intruder’s arm around Marcus’ own. He was able to disarm the intruder after he broke two of the man’s fingers.

Next, he picked up the knife, slicing the popliteal arteries and veins, and tibial nerves in the back of the man’s knees and sending him crashing to the floor.

Marcus ended it when he gripped his opponent’s head and broke his neck.

The dead man laid on the ground, eyes open and blood coursing from his legs from the injuries Marcus had given him.

Feeling less like a priest than ever, Marcus stood on the ground floor of his house, practically vibrating as he looked at what he had done. This was his design. Adrenaline pumped through his body. He was neither scared nor repulsed by his actions. He struggled to figure out how he felt.

_Good_ was the one word that kept coming back to him. Then another, more apt description overtook him.

Yes.

This was it exactly.

He was slightly giddy at how perfectly it applied to him. His emotions were all over the place, yet he had never been more connected with himself.

He felt … _alive_.

  


Tomas had spent a delightful evening enjoying a performance of Georges Bizet’s _Carmen_ by the Baltimore Concert Opera.

It had been ages since he seen it performed live and it did not disappoint. He had never thought much of opera until he was in college; a professor of his had encouraged him to give it a chance after a group discussion in a psychology class. It was one of the best suggestions he had ever received.

Tomas fell for the form immediately and was able to see a performance of Pietro Mascagni’s _Cavalleria Rusticana_ at a steep student discount. Since then, he had collected a number of operas on vinyl, playing them often.

Now, he walked through his home and noticed the double doors to the dining room were ajar.

This was not how he had left them.

He entered the room to find a body laid out on his table and Marcus at the far end, standing next to the other set of double doors that led outside with his arms crossed over his chest. There was a smattering of blood splattered on his clothes. He was calm, serene even.

Tomas liked this scene very much; his curiosity was piqued.

“Friend of yours?” Marcus asked darkly.

Tomas stood next to the body at its left with his back to Marcus, taking a good look at the face. “No,” he replied. He looked back at Marcus.  “Friend of _yours_?”

“My friends aren't trying to kill me.”

“That you know of.” Tomas flashed a small smile. “He was a former patient by the name of Christopher Osborne. Why bring him here?”

“He tried to kill me in my home. I thought a professional consultation was in order.” Marcus mirrored Tomas’ smile. “Did you have a vision of this?” He nodded at the corpse.

“Not of this, no.”

“Of what, then?”

Tomas walked over to Marcus so they were close enough to breathe in each other’s scent. He was intoxicated by the musk Marcus secreted. It had an oaky base with notes of citrus. The impulse to bury his nose in his friend’s clavicle and deeply inhale as much of the delectable scent was strong, but he resisted.

Marcus, too, was drawn to the man who stood before him. Tomas smelled of sandalwood, vetiver and lavender. The aroma served as an aphrodisiac, which mingled with his already heightened emotional state nearly gave Marcus a contact high. He wanted nothing more than to pull him in for a long, deep kiss and to feel Tomas’ hands on his body. Another moment had presented itself like those in the car all those weeks ago outside his house. Again, he didn’t act on his urges.

“I saw flashes; pieces of a whole. A house in the woods. A full moon. Someone screaming. And you, covered in blood.” His eyes swept over Marcus’ body before returning to his face. “Unlike now.”

“Were you ever going to say anything?” he asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“When I had more information. To say anything sooner would only do more harm.” Tomas took Marcus’ face in his hands. “I won’t let anyone hurt you other than myself.”

Marcus absorbed the last statement, letting the truth behind the words sink in. “I believe you.”

They looked at each a few seconds longer before Tomas removed his hands and spoke. “What did you feel after you killed him? A sprig of zest?”

“Yes.” Marcus forced himself to say the next words. “I liked it. It felt good killing him.”

“Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?”

“I didn’t say I felt like God.”

Tomas let slip a tiny smile. “You didn’t have to. Now what should we do about Mr. Osborne?”

  


The priest at St. Bernadette’s Church in Baltimore discovered the body early the next morning.

Christopher Osborne had been laid on the altar in the front of the nave as if he was a knight ready for burial. Instead of a sword, he held his bolt-action rifle with both hands as it rested on his chest. Two gold coins were placed over his eyes; fare for his trip to the underworld.

This was his design.

Once the police had arrived, the crime scene investigators noted after removing the rifle from his hands, and opening his vest and shirt that Osborne’s heart, liver and lungs had been removed.

Rose Cooper had the story posted on Bloodline’s website within ninety minutes of the body being found. It was another thirty before any other news outlet — online or television — reported the story.

  


Tomas followed Marcus home to Wolf Trap once they had returned from displaying the body at the church. As the night sky transitioned to a red one as the sun began to rise, they finished cleaning up the mess made in the living room/bedroom area. Most of it was glass and wood from the window frame. The sheets on the bed were removed, cleared of debris and put aside to be washed. Fresh sheets were put on the bed in their place. Blood had seeped into the wood floor, but they still managed to leave little trace of it having been there at all.

Tomas left word with his service to cancel all of his appointments for that day. He would reschedule with his patients later. They slept in Marcus’ bed, awaking in the early afternoon to find themselves in each other’s arms. Tomas on his left side with his head in the nook of Marcus’ shoulder, his right arm around his waist. Marcus, lying on his back, had his right arm around Tomas’ shoulders and left hand on his arm. Tomas nestled in this sweet spot as Marcus held him tighter. Eventually, they got up and Tomas went home.

Marcus showed up at the townhouse a few hours later to help him cook their dinner. Tomas had insisted it was only fair since he had provided the meat. Together they made bopis, a Filipino dish which consisted of heart, lungs and liver in a tomato base. Normally, these would be pork products, but part of the fun of cooking was making alterations.

The liver and lungs were brought separately to a boil. Then both were drained and allowed to cool before being the three were cut into bite-sized pieces; Marcus took the liver and heart; Tomas the lungs. Next, all three organs were combined into a large pot with bay leaves, vinegar and water added, along with salt and pepper for seasoning, and brought to a simmer.

Marcus heated the olive oil and cooked the onion and garlic in it till fragrant under Tomas’ supervision. The tomatoes were the last ingredient to be included and everything in the saucepan was brought to a simmer. Tomas poured the contents from the pot into the oil mixture and stirred.

An al fresco dinner under the late-day sun was just what they needed. Once they had eaten, Tomas took away their bowls. He just had finished putting away the leftovers in the kitchen when he smelled Marcus’ scent. He still had the musk of last night, only now it had faded somewhat and mingled with his usual clean fragrance, which stemmed from his choice of soap.

They moved toward each other at the same time. When they met, Marcus cupped the back of Tomas’ neck and kissed him. Tomas slid his arms around Marcus’ waist, pulling him in closer. They continued for a few minutes; their lips unable to separate except to welcome each other’s tongue, which flicked and caressed its partner as their lips kept coming back together.

Finally, they broke apart. Their pulses elevated as they were short of breath. Marcus put a hand on Tomas’ chest. A moment later, he was gone.

Tomas returned outside to the backyard with a glass of beer in one hand and a goblet of wine in the other after a few minutes. Marcus took the beer with a smile and watched as Tomas settled once more into his chair across from him.

The kiss was never mentioned that night.

However, its memory lingered.


	20. Chapter 20

The Salesman switched off the television after watching the story on the local news about how the body of Christopher Osborne had been found on the altar of St. Bernadette’s Church in Baltimore clutching a bolt-action rifle to his chest with two coins atop his eyelids to pay the ferryman on his way to the underworld like in Greek mythology.

He was annoyed. This is what he got for not doing the job himself. If you want something done right…. Fine. No more games. He was going to kill The Chesapeake Ripper and The Old Gray Lion. They were practically inseparable now, so it should be easy to end them in the same space — one right after the other. Now he just had to locate them. He knew it would not be necessarily an easy job considering the skill of The Ripper and the fact The Lion took down someone twice as agile and half his age. However, it wasn’t impossible. 

Flashes of a woman’s body on the slab in a morgue played in his mind. A not-so-gentle reminder of his mission and why he must continue. 

He needed no such aid. 

His beloved wife Sarah had been ripped away from him almost a year ago; gunned down during a robbery at the very store where he was now employed. His chest ached at the memory of seeing her lifeless corpse on the table in that cold, clinical room. 

That day marked the start of Emmet Lunney’s evolution from loving husband to calculating killer. He thirsted to avenge what he had lost by targeting happy families and selecting his victims by deducing whose death would have the biggest impact. The deeper the potential grief, the more satisfying the kill.

A few days after Sarah’s funeral, he had applied for a job in the jewelry department of the medium-sized, family-owned store. He gave his two weeks’ notice at the IT firm where he had been working for the past eighteen years that same day. 

The store was one of a dying breed, which is one of the reasons why the robber had chosen it. Sarah had walked in during the crime; her mistake realized too late. The man in the black ski mask rounded when the door chimed and pulled the trigger twice. Sarah bled out on the floor in front of the door.

When the killer had been found by Emmet a few weeks later, his death was not as swift. It took another three days before his life finally was snuffed. 

By then, the man was missing several fingers and toes; had electrical burn marks on more than half his body; his nipples and genitals had been removed; and a chunk of his right cheek was missing, having been shaved off with a pen knife. He was discovered naked and tied to a wheelchair within the Penrose Square water feature in Arlington, Virginia. Anything missing had been burned till it was ash by Emmet, far away from where the body was found.

He had watched and read the news coverage obsessively. No one knew who had committed such a heinous act. 

The only person who had come close was the blogger for Bloodhound. She had theorized only someone with an axe to grind — perhaps the loved one of one of his victims? — could be responsible since the victim in this case had a wrap sheet as long as he was tall for crimes such as robbery, grand theft and grand theft auto. Nothing about murder. Just as well. If Sarah had been his first, the authorities would have been banging on his door. 

No one came. 

No one cared. 

Emmet cared. Two days after Sarah’s death, he had been approached by a woman named Jessica, who had promised him what he desired most. She had said she could help him avenge his wife. He was unnerved by her very presence. They were in the parking lot of the funeral home that would handle the arrangements for Sarah. He had just finished planning her farewell. The woman, Jessica, talked about true love and how if he had adored his wife as Emmet had claimed, this would be an easy answer.

She took his face in her hands. “You still want to please your wife, don’t you, Emmet?”

_How did she know my name?_  

The look of shock made her smile. “I know you, Emmet. You love Sarah very much. She shouldn’t be the one dead. That man who robbed the store and killed her? It should be him. _It can be him._ Don’t you want it to be him, Emmet?”

He nodded in spite of himself.

“Say it,” she said firmly.

“I want it to be him.”

“Like you mean it, Emmet.”

This time, he did. He meant it. He meant every word.

“Let me in and I can help you avenge Sarah. Say ‘yes’ and we can make them _all_ pay.”

Her words lulled him in like a siren’s call. It was so seductive. Part of him knew he should say “no,” had to say it. But a bigger part of him thirsted for revenge. An image of Sarah loomed large in his mind. He had said “yes” before he was conscious of it.

Jessica was gone.

A second bronze-colored pupil appeared next to the dominant pupil in his right eye.

Emmet Lunney had integrated with a demon.

The Salesman was born.

   


The luxury SUV pulled up the long drive, coming to a stop behind the pickup truck. Bennett turned off the engine and stared ahead for a few seconds, seeing nothing. 

He had called Amelia first thing the morning before, when he had seen a report on the local news about the incident at the church in Baltimore. She had picked up on the second ring, confirming she had seen it. He had let loose a long string of profanities that even made _her_ blush. She would have thought between the two of them she would be the most likely to talk a blue streak. It was very impressive. 

Underneath the curse words, she could sense his fear and heartbreak. It wasn’t hard to miss since she felt the same. They were running out of time. Once again, Amelia wondered if they already weren’t too late. They had both wondered if Marcus had anything to do with this death. Tomas’ fingerprints were plainly visible, but something was different. She couldn’t work out what, exactly; it was just a feeling. 

Bennett hadn’t responded well when she had posited her theory regarding Marcus’ involvement. At first, she thought he had hung up; the long, slow exhale that eventually came down the line proved otherwise.

“We need to see him, talk to him,” Bennett said.

“I agree. Should we go today?”

“No.” Another slow exhale; shorter this time. “I don’t think he’ll be home.”

Amelia didn’t say anything for a moment. She had felt herself becoming emotional and that would not do. The last time she had seen Marcus they had tore each other apart in every way short of literal. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing him again and yet she couldn’t stand on the sidelines — not now. 

There was no way Bennett was going without her. As she took a moment to collect herself, she tried not to think of Marcus and Tomas in bed together in light of their first joint kill. She shook her head to clear that disturbingly graphic image out of her mind. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

Now they were both in Bennett’s vehicle, on loan from the archdiocese for him to use while he’s in the area. She was looking at him with a frown and concern etched on her features.

“You okay?”

He turned his head in her direction. “Are you?”

She shifted her eyes to the house. “Think he’s actually home?”

Following her gaze, he replied: “One way to find out.”

They exited the vehicle. Once on the porch, Bennett opened the screen door and knocked on the main one. A minute later, Marcus was standing on the threshold.

“Wasn’t sure I’d see _you_ again,” he said, looking at Bennett.

“God works in mysterious ways.”

Marcus grinned. “He does indeed.” Shifting his attention to Mouse, he said: “You two a double act now? Am I that far gone in your eyes?”

“Yes.”

The grin disappeared. “Right. Best come in then.”

They entered the house. A preliminary look around as they stepped into the living room had them stopping in their tracks when his guests spied the plywood covering what used to be the window near his bed. Mouse spotted it first and tapped Bennett in the chest with the back of her hand. They stared at it briefly before slowly turning their heads to look at Marcus.

“A wolf crashed through the window the other night,” he told them with his hands in his back pockets. “It was out of its mind. It took a lot, but I finally put it down.”

The staring continued.

“It’s rare, but not unusual. It was obviously sick. Wolves don’t normally react that way.” He wasn’t fond of the uninterrupted eye contact.

“What happened to the body?” Bennett asked.

“It was taken away. Acquired an interest in taxidermy in the intervening weeks?”

“Just curious.”

“Been to church lately?” Mouse had moved past the drama of the window and now just wanted to drop the pretense. Keeping it up for so long had become exhausting. She wasn’t just thinking about this morning.

“I have. Not as much as I should, but I pray and keep up with the reading.” He pursed his lips. “And you, Mouse? Have you been paying your respects at the House of the Lord?”

“Every Sunday and occasionally on Wednesday.” God, she wanted to stab him with something sharp. _These days, he might be turned on by it._ It took everything she had not to roll her eyes at that last thought.

Bennett’s mobile rang. He looked at the screen. An international number was displayed. “Excuse me.” He took the call outside.

Then there were two.

Marcus stepped closer until he was invading her personal space. “What are you doing, Mouse?”

This was the Marcus she knew. She could still see him. She marveled at how much he had changed in just the few weeks since she had seen him last. He looked the same: the thin beard, the cropped hair, the lean frame. Beyond that he almost was unrecognizable, save for a few characteristics that were so inherently _him_ they never could be erased. “Right back at you.”

“If you have something to say, then say it,” he growled.

“The wolf in your story is _you_. The man on the altar at St. Bernadette’s crashed through that window, but _you_ killed him. Tomas helped you display the man and _he_ removed his heart, lungs and liver. How am I doing?”

“Stay out of it, little churchmouse.”

“Or what?”

“Just stay out of it. It has _nothing_ to do with you.”

Bennett walked back in just then. Marcus stepped away from Mouse, who exhaled softly. The prefect seemed distracted.

“Is everything alright, Bennett?” she asked.

He nodded. “Fine.” He noticed the tension, which hung in the air like a toxic cloud. “How’s everything in here?”

“Fine,” Marcus answered. “So what brings you by after all this time?”

Bennett glanced at Mouse, who subtly shook her head to warn him. “We wanted to see you. _I_ wanted to see you. Things have been unstable between us for too long.”

Marcus gave him a shy smile. “They have.”

Mouse rolled her eyes. “I’ll be in the car.” She stalked out of the house and down the steps.

“You need to keep an eye on her,” Marcus warned his friend. “She’s gonna stick her nose in and get it chopped off — or worse.”

“She cares about you. We both do,” Bennett said.

Marcus let out a soft sigh. “I know. I care about you, too, but you _have got to stop_. I can’t protect you if you keep pushing this … agenda.”

“You won’t have to. I’ve been called back to Rome.”

This _was_ a surprise. “I was beginning to think they disowned you.”

Bennett snickered. “I’m too good at my job unlike some people.”

His friend released a genuine smile. His first since his guests had arrived. “What _is_ my job anymore? I’m barely a priest. I was an absentee professor for half of the semester.”

“You are what you have always been since that day when you were twelve years old and Father Sean locked you in a room with your first demon. You are an exorcist, Marcus Keane. A damn fine one and you will continue to be until your dying breath.”

Marcus’ heart surged upon hearing the testimonial from his old friend. He hadn’t truly realized how much he had missed Bennett and his company. Now he was finally leaving after being stuck here for so long, in part because of him. “Time for a drink before you wing it back to His Holiness?”

“I’ll make time. I leave in a few days.” He extended a hand.

Marcus took it and shook it with all his heart. Bennett gave his hand a squeeze to show he felt the same before releasing it and taking his leave.

   


Amelia stood in the waiting room for nearly forty minutes. She wasn’t sure this was a good idea. In fact, she wasn’t sure this _wasn’t_ a good idea. In the heat of the moment, it was genius. Now it seemed downright dangerous. 

Who in their right mind would put blood in the water because they _wanted_ to bait the shark? She didn’t _want_ to be here yet she couldn’t make herself leave. _This isn’t about you_ , she kept telling herself. But wasn’t it, though? She had to believe she had done everything in her power to save what she knew in her heart was a lost cause. 

_Great. Now I have “Hey Jude” in my head._ She exhaled. _Calm the fuck down, Amelia. You’re not helping anybody if you don’t. Calm. Down._ Surviving the tumble down the rabbit hole was one thing. Surviving what came after was something else. Something darker and trickier. 

The door to the office opened. Tomas was surprised to see he had a guest. “Amelia. This is unexpected.”

She gestured at the doorway. “May I?”

He nodded. “Of course.” He moved back so she could enter. Once she was through, he closed the door behind him. “What brings you here at such a late hour?”

It was nearly ten at night. She knew he kept late hours once a week and always stayed after each night once the last patient had left to take care of any housekeeping: updating patient notes; preparing for the next day; whatever needed to be done. “We haven’t talked in quite awhile. I felt a need to check in.”

“I’m flattered. Would you like a drink? It _is_ after hours. I have beer.” He was always the perfect host.

“Not if you have to go into the house. Whatever you have on hand will be fine.” She forgot how charming he could be; not that he could dissuade her from her objective.

He smiled before producing a bottle of homemade beer from the liquor cabinet against the wall to the right of the door she had just entered. Two glasses came from the same location.

“Drinking on the job now?” she asked with a smirk.

“I started keeping a bottle when Marcus and I would meet to talk. I never brought it back into the house after we became more casual.” He poured out enough to fill half a glass each and handed her one. They clinked glasses and took a drink. “Did you have a good end of semester, Amelia?”

She walked over to one of the chairs. “I did, thank you.” Turning back to face him, she added, “I hear you’re holding summer session though.” _And here we go._

“What makes you say that?” He was currently amused, but he could easily become annoyed. After that, it would become unsafe for her to still be in the room. She was trying to hook him, but he wouldn’t land so easily. Honestly? He was a little disappointed. Nevertheless, she got an A for effort.

“The altar? Marcus couldn’t have thought of that all by himself.”

The right corner of his mouth twitched as he thought of the other night. “Hypothetically, let’s say he did. Let us also say, hypothetically, that all I did was help him prepare the body and, hypothetically, take a few trophies for myself. What would you think of Marcus then?” He tilted his head ever so slightly to the right and waited for a response.

That hypothetical admission knocked the air out of her lungs. She felt the dread creeping in, spreading through her veins as it threatened to suffocate her. No. No, Marcus wouldn’t do that. Tomas would. _Tomas_ is the killer. _Marcus_ exorcises demons. He’s not supposed to become one. _Didn’t stop Tomas, did it?_  

She thought of the photos Rose had shown her the day before; outtakes from what she had posted on Bloodhound. There was a dignity to the way the body had been laid out that the none of the other corpses possessed. Christopher Osborne had been treated like a soldier, not a piece of meat. The coins. _Oh, God. Why would You let him do this?! He is Your most devout son._  

Was this a resignation letter? 

No.

It was a letter of intent. 

“Why him?” she asked Tomas. The tears were threatening to come and she didn’t have the strength to stop them. “Why did it have to be him?”

“You should know better than anyone that we cannot pick with whom we fall in love. People are sent to us for reasons which we aren’t always aware. I thank God everyday for sending Marcus to me.” 

He walked up to her and took the barely touched beer from her hands, placing both glasses on his work desk. Quickly, he reached into a drawer and pulled out two coasters and set the containers on top. He leaned against the front of the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you have anything else you would like to ask?”

She couldn’t speak. Her heart was breaking. A tear rolled down each cheek. She wiped them away and shook her head.

“I would advise you to not come back here, Amelia. It would not be beneficial to you if you did so.”

“Just say it.” The tears flowed freely now. She made no more attempts to dry her eyes.

“I will kill you if you return. That is a promise.” There was no emotion in his face; his eyes were full of intent.

“And you always keep your promises.”

A wistful smile appeared on the otherwise blank facade. “That is true. Be blind, Amelia. Don’t be brave.”

She made her way to the door that led out to the waiting room. There was nothing more to be said. All the cards were on the table. She had lost.

It wasn’t a big surprise.

The house always wins.


	21. Chapter 21

“Where did you go?”

It was the next day. Marcus was sitting on the main desk in Tomas’ office, hands clasped in his lap and gazing with concern at his friend in the chair in front of him. He had entered through the main house as Tomas had given him a key while he had stayed with him as he recuperated from having his gut ripped open by Kat Rance. 

Marcus had asked if he could hang out at his place for the day. He didn’t expect Tomas to close his practice in order to entertain him; he just needed a change of scenery. Besides, he had decided to rent another place for a week, maybe two, and wanted to start looking at online listings. Christopher Osborne’s unexpected visit had left more of a mark on him than he originally had thought. He shouldn’t have been surprised. What did he think would happen after killing the man in self-defense and displaying his corpse in God’s house? 

Tomas had invited him to spend the time at his home instead of putting out money on a rental, but Marcus politely declined. He was too enamoured with the idea of a fresh space, somewhere to clear his polluted brain — even if it _was_ temporary.

When he couldn’t find Tomas in the house, he headed for his office. There had been no one in the waiting room, which really wasn’t a surprise. This was his regularly scheduled free hour, which he traditionally took between one and two each afternoon. Marcus felt it would be rude to just walk in, so he had knocked first. There was no sound on the other side. He knocked again and pressed his ear to the door. Silence. He slowly opened the door and poked in his head. 

Across the room, he had seen Tomas sitting stock still; his eyes white. He had ran over and knelt beside the chair, placing his left hand over Tomas’ right and his right hand on the other man’s left cheek. After a minute, Tomas had gasped as if the air had suddenly poured back into his lungs and the white evaporated from his hazel eyes. It took him another couple seconds to reorient himself with his surroundings. He had looked down to his right and saw Marcus looking up at him with relief; he could feel Marcus’ hands on him.

“I was in Ensler’s department store downtown,” he said to him now. “There was a man. It was the same man who sold you Casey’s necklace. He was showing an array of items on a velvet strip. It wasn’t jewelry though. They were instruments of torture. It was a promise.”

“He’s going to do what Osborne couldn’t.”

“Yes.”

“Why me? Who is this man?” Marcus wondered if he had actually encountered the man previously, not counting the sales transaction of weeks past. 

He knew he had pissed off a lot of people over the years and couldn’t even remotely remember them all. Then he wondered if it was a demon getting its revenge. There have been a lot of exorcised demons over the years. Almost as many as the number of people Marcus had provoked. It didn’t even necessarily have to be a demon he had met. Any one of them could have gotten it in its head to target an exorcist; especially one as feared as Marcus. Then there was Tomas to consider….

Tomas, who was watching as his friend ran the possibilities through his head like an accountant crunching the numbers. He found it utterly fascinating. Every time Marcus came up with another contender, his face registered the reveal. Finally, Tomas concluded there were too many suspects. He stood and cupped Marcus’ face in his hands, forcing him to look at the bearded psychiatrist. “Stop.” His thumbs softly caressed Marcus’ cheeks. “Between the two of us there are too many to consider — both human and demon.” 

His eyes flickered to the tantalizing lips in front of him and back to the bright blue eyes looking back. “I don’t have the answers to your questions, but I will.”

“You’re going to see him.”

“Yes. My vision was an invitation. He wants to meet. It would be rude not to accept.” He ran a hand through Marcus’ short, dark blonde hair.

“You and your bloody manners.”

Tomas smiled. He inclined his head toward his friend and sniffed the air between them.

“Did you just smell me?”

“Your scent has evolved in the time since we’ve met. I was curious to know what you smelled like today.”

“And here I thought you caught a whiff of my atrocious aftershave.”

“You don’t wear aftershave.”

Marcus’ smile was flirty with a dash of lust. “You _have_ been paying attention.”

Tomas matched the smile that was luring him in once again. It was no secret it had landed him a while ago. “Always.”

A head tilted up. The other leaned in. Their lips met. The hand in the dark blonde hair clutched the back of the head. The pair of hands clasped in the lap gripped the hips in front of them, digging its fingers into the trousers that covered not only the hips, but the muscular legs and firm ass. A step closer brought the bodies together; chests pressed against each other, their erect penis’ touching through the fabric of their pants. A soft moan emanated from both of them at separate times. 

_Beepbeepbeepbeep._

The moment had been shattered. 

Reality came rushing back. 

_“What the fuck is that?”_ Marcus barked as he tried to get his breathing under control.

Tomas grinned sheepishly, his own breathing erratic. He pulled out his mobile from the right front pocket of his trousers. “I have an alarm set for forty minutes into my break so I know how much time I have before my next appointment.”

The bemused look of the older man gave way to raucous laughter that even infected the doctor. They continued laughing until it eventually died away. At this point, they had become entranced with each other once more. Even though it pained him to do so, Marcus made the first move to break the spell. Tomas stepped back as Marcus stood up from the desk. He moved to the left, but stopped as he took Tomas’ right hand in his left; their fingers intertwining.

“Just let me know before you leave,” he said, looking at him directly.

“Te prometo, mi amor.” Tomas told him with an even stare. “Estamos en esto juntos. Hasta donde va.”

   


There was a change in the air. It now pulsed with a new energy. A dark energy that wasn’t demonic, but had the potential for evil. The charge was intoxicating. Suddenly everything within the small, family-owned department store seemed relevant. 

He was here. 

He had accepted the invitation. 

The Salesman was humbled and delighted in equal measure. This time, they would both understand with whom they were dealing. The demon had had the advantage a few weeks ago when he was in here with his family. Now the adults would talk.

Tomas entered Ensler’s in the early evening. It was not quite seven. The sun was still out, enjoying its later curfew now summer had arrived. He had finished with his last patient at five o’clock. There weren’t any late appointments scheduled, so he had finished with his housekeeping as was his custom. 

He had went into the house to check on Marcus, who had made himself at home on the loveseat by the kitchen where they had had their first real talk the night of Harper’s exorcism. Tomas very much enjoyed their conversations in his office, but on the couch it was more personal because he had opened up, too. He watched Marcus as the older man worked on his own laptop; the wifi courtesy of Tomas. 

_I sincerely wish he didn’t insist on renting a house somewhere. He should be here with me. This house can be his retreat._ He sighed. Marcus had a stubborn streak five miles wide and even in the short amount of time they had known each other that had become obviously apparent. Tomas couldn’t help but laugh.

Marcus looked up. “Cured everybody already?”

“Of course not,” Tomas replied as he walked over, unbuttoned his jacket and sat next to him on the couch. “How would I pay for this decadent lifestyle to which I have become accustomed?” A wicked grin.

Marcus smiled and laughed before his attention was drawn back to his computer.

“Find a place?” Tomas asked as he peeked at the screen.

“A few have potential, but none seem right.”

“Guess you will have to just stay here.”

Marcus shot him a look. “Nice try. But I do appreciate the offer.”

“It’s always open.” He stood up.

“Where do you think _you’re_ going?”

“Ensler’s department store.”

A dark shadow swept across Marcus’ weathered features. “You be careful. Who knows what that fucker is capable of.”

Tomas noted the change in his partner’s mood and appreciated it. He rather preferred this to the solitary life he had led until recently. An instinct to kiss Marcus before leaving kicked in, but he decided against it. Let that be his reward for coming home alive.

Now he made his way to the left side of the store toward the jewelry section. His host was standing in front of a display to greet him. He was in a simple two-piece gray suit with a white dress shirt, red tie and black dress shoes. Tomas guessed the shirt was short-sleeved and tried to keep his repulsion in check. He, himself, was dressed in a three-piece deep blue tartan suit handmade in Milan by an Italian tailor he had known for nearly a decade. A pastel blue long-sleeved dress shirt and brown ankle boots completed his ensemble. He had removed his tie before he left the house. Marcus liked the open shirt look — even if it was only two buttons.

“Dr. Ortega. I am so happy you could make it.” The Salesman extended his hand.

Tomas accepted it. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Emmet Lunney. I love your work. I wonder if you’re aware of mine.”

This got Tomas’ attention. He appreciated the compliment, but was more interested in Lunney’s extracurriculars. “I don’t recall your name in the news.”

“That’s because they don’t know I exist. My work speaks for itself.” He proceeded to list a few highlights off his resumé, including the robber who had killed his wife Sarah; the six-year-old son of a mother who had lost her husband, the boy’s father, in a car accident only three months’ prior; and the newlywed twenty-nine-year-old, who only had learned she was pregnant six weeks ago.

“Strip away the loved ones from those who would most feel the sting of their death,” Tomas said. It wasn’t hard to pick up the pattern. “Very poetic.”

“Thank you. I look forward to seeing how the death of Marcus Keane will affect _you_. I had originally planned on killing your youngest girl when I saw how much she and Marcus love each other, but then _you_ walked in and I not only recognized you but saw the two of you together. I haven’t seen adoration like that since my late wife. So, naturally, he has to die.”

Tomas picked up that Lunney thought he, Marcus, Harper and Casey were a real family. The thought delighted him. Nothing would make him happier. Then again, were they not already a family? Tomas considered them as such, so really the other man was quite right. Now to protect them. “Naturally. Too bad Christopher Osborne failed you. He could have saved you the effort.”

The Salesman chewed on this for a second. “I _was_ disappointed at first. However, I always knew I would finish the job myself should he fail. And here we are.” He spread his arms, the palms of his hands facing up.

There it was. Lunney had been behind the attack on Marcus at his house. Tomas wanted to do some very bad things to this very bad man, but he saw something that made him temporarily forget his lust for vengeance. 

In Lunney’s right eye, in addition to the brown iris like the one in his left, was a bronze one.

“You have integrated.”

The Salesman smiled. “The beautiful lady told me exactly what I wanted to hear and we sealed the deal on the spot.” He lowered his arms and stuck his hands in his trousers’ front pockets. “I admit to a moment’s hesitation. However, she got me in the end. No regrets. Good thing because no refunds.”

He motioned for Tomas to follow him over to the counter to his right. After he walked behind it, he put his hands behind his back. “Now is there anything I can interest you in? Still gotta pay the bills.”

Tomas allowed his eyes to wander over the items beneath the glass. He moved to his left as the religious charms caught his eye. They made him think of an old medal his abuela had given him when he had graduated high school. He hadn’t thought about it in years yet knew precisely where it was stored. In that instant, he knew he wanted to gift it to Marcus.

“Do you have any leather wrist straps?” he asked.

The Salesman’s smile grew in a way that oddly reminded Tomas of The Grinch in the old Chuck Jones holiday cartoon. “This way.” 

They walked over to a display in the far end of the section before it turned into bath and bedding. It held a variety of leather straps in different colors, patterns and widths for all genders of any age. Tomas selected one that consisted of a thin, dark, woven band. _This will work nicely. The medal will fit just right._ “I’ll take it.”

He got home to find Marcus stretched out on the loveseat with his eyes closed and legs draped over the arm of the furniture. The laptop was shut on the floor. Smiling, Tomas quietly went upstairs to a walk-in closet he used to store linens, towels, Christmas decorations and mementos of his family. 

On a low shelf towards the back, he pulled out a decorative box made of wood. He opened it, rifling through it a bit before his eyes landed on the prize. He removed the medal from its years-long home. He slid the medal onto the leather band. It was a perfect fit. After he tied it loosely so as not to lose the medal, he put the bracelet in his pocket, replaced the wooden box and left the room.

Marcus was standing when Tomas returned to the living room. “I thought I heard you come in. How did it go?”

Tomas gave a small shake of his head. “Later. I have something for you.”

“You what?” Marcus looked at him bemusedly as a small smile formed.

“Give me your wrist.”

Marcus’ eyes narrowed, but offered his left wrist. His eyes widened and his mouth was agape as Tomas secured the leather bracelet with the medal on his wrist. He looked at the other man in surprise.

“Do you like it?” Tomas asked expectantly.

A nod of the head. Marcus gingerly ran his fingers over the leather before taking the medal between his right forefinger and thumb. “I love it.’ His gaze landed back on Tomas. “Thank you.”

Tomas smiled. “You’re welcome. The medal was a gift from my abuela. I want you to have it.” He saw Marcus about to protest and placed a hand on his own chest. “I insist.”

Marcus nodded again. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“St. Benedict is my saint of choice. He has been the subject of many drawings of mine over the years.”

“That makes sense. He, too, preferred life away from the big city, among other things.”

A short, comfortable silence fell. 

“What happened at the store?” Marcus asked.

“His name is Emmet Lunney. He is a serial killer, who works in the jewelry department. He hired Osborne to kill you and will now try to do it himself. Also, he has integrated with a demon.”

Marcus took this all in. “You really know how to bury the lead.”


	22. Chapter 22

Happiness was not something Marcus Keane had ever sought. Nor was it something he had felt he was owed after the hellacious childhood he had experienced: killing his father when he was seven years old after the old man had killed Marcus’ mum right in front of him; the foster homes, each worse than the last; being taken in by the Church and exposed to the life of an exorcist before he was a teenager. 

All of these things had happened; he had survived. He believed God had a plan and if the only way for Marcus to walk the path He intended was to endure indelible pain at the start of his life, then so be it. There was always the threat of more torment with every exorcism. He had become very good at sealing himself off from demons, but every once in awhile they would hit a scab he had forgotten was there. 

Trouble was Marcus was covered in scars both psychic and physical; the scabs were everywhere. The physical ones were both from the job and self-inflicted. He had been in a dark place when he was younger. It was his way of checking to see if he was still alive after the abuse made him numb. He had gotten inked in a few spots to cover some of the really bad scars when he was a little older and in a much better place mentally and emotionally. On the outside of his left wrist, he also had added a gun barrel tattoo. He had thought it was a fitting tribute to his career as an exorcist.

Ironically, it was his sterling reputation in that field that had gotten him noticed by the higher-ups in the Church. His reward was a parish in a Virginia suburb; a world away from the one he knew best. In all honesty, he had thought he could use the break. 

He had been working nonstop for years, never knowing where his next meal would come from let alone where he would rest his head. There were times more often than he would admit when he would go for days without food or rest — good thing water usually could be found for free. 

A more sedentary life sounded like a bloody vacation at the time. He hadn’t intended on sticking around for two decades. He missed the nomadic life of an exorcist. The anger and resentment had started to ferment deep down inside of him without him fully realizing it. It wasn’t he hated his work as the community priest; quite the opposite.

However, the so-called “tri-state” area of Virginia, Maryland and Washington, D.C., wasn’t exactly a hotbed of demonic activity. Yes, this was a good thing. However if you’re an exorcist with an itch in desperate need of scratching, this is the equivalent of Hell on Earth. 

He had heard the stories whispered of the young daughter of a Hollywood actress who had been possessed by a demon in the Georgetown section of D.C. The fates of the two priests who had been cleared by the diocesan bishop to perform the rites also had been mentioned. This was to be the exception, not the rule. Marcus had been ensconced in St. Peter’s for a few years before he had the opportunity to put on that black fedora he loved so much with the wide brim. (It now sat in an upstairs closet with his clerical gear at his house.)

He began to wear the hat more often as the years progressed. The uptick in demonic activity had not gone unnoticed by him, even if the Church tended to officially turn a blind eye. Bennett also saw the numbers rise from where he was stationed in Rome. Marcus was happy to have at least one ally in this war. Somehow he had managed to successfully balance his parish duties as a priest with his side gig as an exorcist for years. 

Until that night Kat Rance had shot him. He took that fateful moment as a sign and ran with it. All the way to St. Elizabeth’s College, where he had hid away in a classroom for a few months till Andy Kim came into his life. Then Kat had returned — not that she was ever truly gone.

So, no. Happiness was not something Marcus had given much thought. The closest he had come to it was contentment; during his years as the priest at St. Peter’s and currently as a college professor.

Imagine his surprise when he finally had worked out that happiness had found him after all these years.

   


“JesusfuckingChrist. How the bloody hell did you find me?!”

Marcus had just come out the front door of the modest Craftsman he had rented for the next couple weeks thinking the car he had heard pulling up the driveway had brought Casey and Harper. They were due any minute; staying for a couple days as a last hurrah before Harper left for summer camp for six weeks on the Eastern Shore of Maryland and Casey began her internship ahead of leaving for Dartmouth in August.

“Public records,” replied Rose Cooper as she came up the walkway. She watched as Marcus set his jaw and rolled his eyes. “Kidding! I heard it from Amelia, who heard it from Bennett. Huh. All these years later and I’m _still_ playing Telephone.”

“What do you want?”

She raised her hands. “I come in peace. I just want to talk. _Off the record._ ”

He scoffed. “Yeah right.”

“Marcus. You are ninety minutes out of my way. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was important.”

He sighed. “Yeah alright.” He sat down at the top of the porch steps. “And you can lower your hands.”

Before Rose could say anything more, a second car pulled up next to Marcus’ pickup. Casey was out of the car as soon as she turned off the ignition with Harper right behind her.

“ _What the hell are you doing here?!_ ” she shouted at Rose. “Haven’t you done enough damage?! _And you_ ,” she rounded on Marcus and pointed her index finger at him, “why haven’t you kicked her boney ass off your property?”

“Are you sure you two aren’t related?” Rose asked, only half-kidding. Seriously. Those two were so alike right now it was freaking her out.

“She said ‘shit’ when we pulled up,” Harper said.

“Yeah, I did. I said, _‘What the shit?!’_ And I meant it. Because seriously. _What. The. Shit._ ”

Marcus wanted to laugh his ass off at this extraordinary display of affection coming from Casey and by extension Harper, who was looking at her friend with pure adoration. He caught Harper’s eye and they both smiled as they desperately tried to contain their laughter. However, since Casey looked like she was about to rip off Rose’s head and do who knows what with it, he decided to take control of the situation. “It’s fine, Casey. She was just about to tell me what brought her ninety minutes out of her way.”

The girls climbed the stairs and sat on either of him; Casey with her right arm around his shoulders and Harper with her left arm hooked into his right, taking his hand in hers with their fingers intertwined. His bodyguards were not going to let anything to happen to him. All for one and one for all. Marcus’ heart swelled in his chest. God he loved these two so much. He sent a silent thank you upstairs.

“Go on then,” said Casey. She just triple dog-dared Rose to say anything other than the truth.

Rose’s eyes popped and her mouth formed a perfect “O” when she realized this conversation was actually going to happen with the girls in attendance.

Marcus’ lips twitched. He was enjoying seeing Rose squirm, but he knew whatever she was about to tell him was not for all ages. “Get your bags and go inside, girls.”

“No!” Casey protested.

“We want to stay,” Harper said.

“I know you do and I love you both for it,” he said to Harper, giving her hand a squeeze. He turned his head back to Casey and gave a quick nod at the door; an imploring look followed.

Casey stared at him for a few long seconds before she sighed; her shoulders slumped in defeat. She got the message: While she may have been allowed to stay, this wasn’t for Harper’s ears. She didn’t disagree. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get our stuff and go inside.”

Silently, they walked back to Casey’s car, and grabbed their overnight bags and suitcases. Casey ignored Rose altogether, but paused on the steps to give Marcus a supportive smile and his left shoulder a squeeze. He winked at her in response. She waited by the door for Harper, who also stopped by Marcus.

“Don’t stay out here too long,” she said.

“Of course not!” he replied in mock indignation. “Not when there’s a Monkey in my house!” He brought his face right up to hers.

She giggled. “You’re such a goofball.”

He crossed his eyes and made a funny face. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

She laughed fully, then brought her forehead in to touch his. They stayed like this for five seconds. Marcus kissed the tip of her nose when they parted. She shot Rose a severe look before going up the steps and into the house. He watched her walk inside and mouthed “Thank you” to Casey. She winked back and entered the dwelling, shutting the door behind her.

Rose was still processing the scene she had just witnessed. “How are they _not_ biologically related to you? Casey, in particular. She’s like a female Marcus Keane.”

Marcus didn’t respond, but there was an amusement in his expression.

“That’s a compliment, by the way. _No one_ generates that kind of devotion. Not in my experience. Not till you. Amelia. Bennett. The girls. Tomas. Those who love you, do so fiercely. It’s quite impressive.”

Marcus was taken aback. “That oddly sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it. I can’t get soft.”

He chuckled. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“May I?” She gestured at a spot on the steps to his right.

He slid over to his left to make room. She sat down and took the time to choose her next words.

“The attack at your home wasn’t random,” she began.

He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes, but kept facing straight out onto the front yard.

“Bennett and Amelia may or may not buy your lone wolf story — very clever, by the way —” (Here Marcus smirked.) “— but I already had started digging into Christopher Osborne’s past.”

“I have a target on my back.”

“So you know.”

He nodded. “He’s a former patient of Tomas’.”

She was starting to get annoyed. “He was hired by—”

“A man named Emmet Lunney,” he finished for her. When Marcus turned his head, he was apologetic. “I’m sorry, Rose.”

“How? How do you know this? Tomas? How does _he_ know this?” Her annoyance was curbed somewhat by morbid fascination.

“Tomas told me Osborne was a former patient of his, yes.” He hesitated to tell her any more, but if anyone should be told maybe it _should_ be Rose Cooper with her nose for news and sensationalistic sense of journalistic pride.

“We are one-hundred-percent off the record,” she confirmed. “I even left my bag in the car.”

“Lunney reached out to Tomas. He admitted he was the one who hired Osborne to kill me. He’s not exactly pure as the driven snow, FYI.”

Rose adjusted herself so she was facing Marcus. “What do you mean? Has he killed?”

Marcus nodded. “A boy who had recently lost his father, so his mother is now the sole survivor. A woman, a newlywed, who had just learned she was pregnant. And his wife’s killer.”

The wheels began turning in her brain. This man, who she had maligned in print more times than perhaps was necessary, had just given her a major scoop and yet she couldn’t help but feel it was bittersweet somehow. “I know about the first two stories. I never imagined they were connected. The MO wasn’t obvious, so no one worked it out.”

“He targets happy families and selects his victims by figuring out which member’s death would bring the most pain.”

“Fuck that’s dark. I don’t know the wife’s story, but I can look into that easily enough.” She considered him for a moment, wondering why he was confiding in her. Then the penny dropped. “You don’t know if you’re going to survive him. Did Lunney put the target on your back because of Tomas? He knows about him?”

Marcus nodded, his eyes cast down. “He works at Ensler’s department store. That’s where I took Harper to get Casey’s graduation gift. Apparently, he was so enamored with my relationship with my ‘daughter,’ he had selected Harper as his target. Then Tomas joined us as we were paying. He recognized him somehow and bob’s your uncle.”

Rose was stunned and saddened. “Marcus, I’m so sorry.”

He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “It’s a blessing if you think about it.” He turned his head a bit more to look over the house. “That girl has been through enough. Plus, he was right. It would have killed me if she had died because of me.”

“That’s not why. It’s Lunney. It’s all him.” She put a hand on his knee. It was too personal a touch considering their relationship, but she needed him to hear and understand her. “When he comes for you, don’t lay down and take it. Fight. Fight for those girls in there.” She gestured with her head at the house. “Fight for _yourself_. I’ve heard how tenacious and stubborn you are. I’ve even seen it to a degree. So prove it.”

It was his turn to position himself to face her. “Why do you care so much if I live or die? I’m not _that_ important for your readership.”

“No. To be honest, before today? I may have been sad, but on the whole not terribly affected by your passing. I would be there for Amelia because she would be destroyed. Then I came here and saw you with those girls. Biological or not, you have a family, Marcus. And the mere thought of the devastation your death would bring Casey and Harper?” She pulled in her lips. “I can’t believe you would be so selfish.”

Just then screams of laughter floated in from the back yard. Marcus smiled. “I wouldn’t.”

   


The next morning after breakfast, Tomas arrived. He had yet to see the house and Marcus anticipated his reaction. It wasn’t like he was going to hand back the keys to the Realtor if Tomas hated it. At the same time, he wanted to show off what he thought was a good home. 

There was something about this place when he had found the listing online. When he saw it in person, he knew he had to have it. It fit all his needs and offered space for when the girls would come for the weekend. If he hadn’t known he would be having guests over, he would have went smaller. Yet he knew that wasn’t true. It was always going to be this house. He felt it in his bones. It was a feeling he couldn’t shake. _Was it God’s will?_ All he truly knew was he had to have this house. 

He heard the car pull up as he finished with the dishes. The girls already were outside with a Spotify playlist loudly playing through the portable Bluetooth speakers Casey had brought with her. She and Harper had stayed up way too late making myriad playlists and shrieking with laughter about God knows what. Marcus could hear them as he had tried to sleep. He finally fell off sometime after three in the morning. 

After Rose had left, they had made homemade pizza (a first for Marcus and Harper, so Casey took charge). Casey had tried to get Marcus to tell her what he and Rose had talked about, but he just shook his head. Harper had stepped out onto the back porch off the kitchen to talk to her mom, who had called. After the girl was off the phone, they tried to figure out what movies to watch with dinner while the pizza finished cooking. The streaming options gave them way too many from which to choose. The television was one of those smart TVs that was wifi-enabled.

“How about _The Conversation_?” Casey asked Marcus. “Francis Ford Coppola. Gene Hackman. It’s a classic. We can start Harper’s film education.”

He shot her a look. This was _not_ about Harper’s film education. “She’s a bit young for that, Cas. And I wouldn’t suggest _The Godfather_ either.”

Casey feigned outrage. “I wasn’t going to! Besides, Harper already knows not to take sides against the family. Right, Harp?”

“Yep. I also know this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with what you and Rose talked about outside,” she replied.

Marcus and Casey looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“No secrets in this house,” Casey said.

“No lies at any rate,” Marcus answered. “My conversation with Rose is not for your ears.”

“You’ll tell Tomas,” Casey shot back.

“Most likely, yes.”

“Does it affect us?” Harper asked.

“It could, but _that’s all I’m going to say on the matter_ ,” he said as he saw both girls gearing up to ask a multitude of questions. The topic had stayed closed for the rest of the evening.

They had watched Peter Jackson’s version of _King Kong_ as Harper was fascinated by the gigantic ape; and binged half of the fourth season of _Gilmore Girls_ as Casey wanted to relive Rory’s first year at Yale for obvious reasons. 

Harper had fallen asleep during “The Festival of Living Art” and by the time Marcus and Casey had finished “In the Clamor and the Clangor,” he was shipping Luke and Lorelai and playing the _Gilmore_ version of Fuck Marry Kill with his cohort. 

Based on the limited amount of episodes he had seen, Marcus chose (in order) Miss Patty, Luke, Taylor Doose. Casey had applauded his list. Hers was Jess, Lane, Christopher. Casey had assured him Christopher had it coming. He knew he would find out for himself because he now had the insatiable urge to watch the entire series from the beginning (including the revival). Harper had awoken in time to concur Christopher was the worst. Then she had asked about dessert. 

Marcus now walked outside with a smile to where Tomas stood staring at the house. “If you hate it, I don’t want to know.” He saw the look of concern on his friend’s face. “What is it?”

“This is the house from my vision.” He eyes fell onto Marcus. “How did you know?”

The response knocked the wind out of Marcus for a second. Tomas gripped his shoulders. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Marcus shook his head. “No, I prefer you did. I don’t know how I knew, I just did.”

“The girls are not in any danger,” Tomas said. He had seen the change of expression on his beloved’s face and had anticipated his next question. “Lunney wants you and me. We are the prize. He won’t strike while they are still here. If anything, they are protecting us.”

“Our bodyguards,” Marcus mumbled to himself.

Tomas moved his left hand to cup the back of Marcus’ neck. “And we are theirs. I care about them, too, as if they were my own. I will never let anyone hurt them. And if someone should, I will make sure they pay dearly. Ustedes tres son mi familia.”

“Y nosotros somos tuyos.” He placed his hand on Tomas chest, over his heart.

Tomas leaned in, gently kissing him on the lips. Marcus kissed him back.

“Shall we go see Casey and Harper?” Tomas asked, their foreheads pressed together.

Marcus nodded. They released each other and Tomas grabbed a small suitcase from the trunk of his car. He was staying for a couple days before returning to Baltimore for the rest of the week. 

“Which room is yours?” Tomas asked when they got to the front door.

“Top of the stairs on the right.”

“Good. I’ll drop my bag off. After the girls leave, you can give me the tour.”


	23. Chapter 23

When Tomas came outside after dropping his bag off in Marcus’ bedroom, he received a giant hug from Harper and smaller one from Casey. He could sense her guard was up, but she was nonetheless warm and hospitable. They hadn’t talked since that evening in his kitchen. 

An understanding had been reached between them and he didn’t want press his advantage. She was a fiercer ally of Marcus than even Amelia; definitely on par with Bennett. His fondness for Casey, however, like his fondness for Marcus, put him at a disadvantage. If he ever was forced to kill them, it would destroy him. 

Casey reminded him of Olivia the more he got to know her. Their conversation in the kitchen gave him this epiphany. Her strength was impressive, as was the fire that burned inside her. She was a dragon and Tomas had always loved the mythical creatures ever since his mother had read him a story about one when he just a boy and she still was healthy. 

From then on, she would only read tales of dragons to him at bedtime. Olivia had started bringing home books about them from the library once his mother went into the hospital. When he was older, he became fascinated with William Blake’s _The Great Red Dragon_ paintings. One day, he hoped to see them in person.

Casey and Tomas took a turn around the backyard. Harper wanted to join them, but Marcus told her he needed her help in planning that afternoon’s meal. She knew she was being played, but if she got Marcus to herself for a bit then that was fine with her. 

They went to the kitchen to figure out what were their options. It took longer than either had thought since Marcus had stocked the place so well. Multiple menus were planned for dream dinners; the only limit being the depth of their imaginations. In the end, they came up with a more realistic option for the afternoon with a backup just in case their first choice was vetoed.

“I’m still going to see you when I get back from camp, right?” Harper asked once lunch was settled. She was sitting on top of the island in the kitchen with Marcus standing in front of the open refrigerator grabbing a couple sodas for them both.

Marcus closed the fridge door with his foot and handed her a can. “Why wouldn’t we see each other?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Just suddenly felt like this was all a farewell.” 

Harper looked out the patio doors to her right as Casey and Tomas continued their walk. They were deep in conversation, but Harper didn’t know what they were talking about. She liked they were getting along. Casey had seem agitated when she drove her home after the last time they were all together at Tomas’ house. Or maybe she was distracted. Either way, Harper had a feeling it was because of Tomas. Something must have happened while they were in the kitchen doing the dishes. Casey hadn’t shared and Harper hadn’t asked.

Marcus felt a tug in his heart. The looming battle with Lunney had affected her even though he had done everything he could to keep it away from her. His first instinct in this moment was to reassure her, but he knew he couldn’t do that. 

He couldn’t start lying to her now. Casey had been asking questions since the second she saw Rose yesterday. Harper was a smart girl. He remembered the cold glare she had given Rose before joining Casey inside the house. She trusted Casey and if her big sis didn’t like this woman, there had to be a real reason. 

“What makes you think that, Harper?”

“Just a feeling.” She wasn’t even looking at him now. The tab of her soda can had her undivided attention.

He removed the beverage from her hands and set it aside, out of reach, next to his own. “Tell me.”

“I just feel like we’re never going to be together again after today — the four of us. Like something bad is going to happen.”

Marcus knew she was holding something back. “Go on,” he prodded.

She bit her bottom lip, hesitating to say anything more. One glance at Marcus’ loving face though gave her the courage to continue. “I felt it yesterday when that lady was here.”

“Rose.”

Harper nodded. “And I felt it again, but stronger, when Tomas showed up. I don’t think he’s to blame,” she quickly added. “I just think, maybe, he’s part of the reason somehow.” She sighed. “I don’t know. I just know the last time I felt like this was right before Grace took over me.”

Marcus scooped her into his arms, lifting her and holding her tight. She squeezed him back and wrapped her legs around his narrow waist.

“I am so sorry, Monkey.” He didn’t know what else to say. Tears were threatening to burst forth, but he fought hard to hold them at bay.

“Is it true then?” she said, her voice muffled as her head was buried in his neck.

He took a deep breath and rubbed her back. “I don’t know. I sincerely hope not.”

   


In the backyard, Casey and Tomas were discussing Rose’s visit yesterday. Marcus had yet to mention it, but Tomas didn’t hold that against him. He knew he would broach the topic once the girls left for home. 

The fact Casey came to him with her feelings about this made him again make the connection between her and his beloved sister. Hearing Casey describe the scene when the girls had first arrived brought back those memories of Olivia defending him against his abuela. He was proud of the Rance girl for having Marcus’ back. 

True, she had been rude to Marcus’ guest, but her heart was in the right place and for that reason she could be forgiven.

“I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I know I’m cursing a blue streak, but I was _so angry_ and confused. Mostly angry.”

Tomas laughed. “Your passion is one of your best traits. I admire it greatly. Your language is definitely more colorful than mine.”

Casey blushed. “I get it from my mom. She scolds me, but I know she’s proud I picked up that particular trait.”

“What about Rose Cooper made you lash out like that? I remember you said she ambushed you after a lacrosse match before you graduated.”

“Yeah, but then I read all the crap she wrote about Marcus. _I loathe her._ The way she even dragged you into it with that one piece. You know, the one where she said Marcus was cheating on God with you.”

Tomas’ jaw was set. “I recall.”

He also recalled how that story had basically put Marcus into a catatonic state. Luckily, he hadn’t gone too far inside himself. Bringing him out of it had been fairly simple. For that, he again said a little prayer. Even then, so early in their relationship, he would have felt a deep ache had he lost Marcus. He was beginning to consider paying a visit to Rose might be in his future after all.

Casey heard the grim tone in his voice. _Good. I’m not alone in thinking she’s abhorrent._

She remembered going home after her altercation with the reporter and doing an Internet search on the woman’s name. That day was when she had first visited the Bloodhound website. She had heard about the site from classmates, who basically made it sound like a true-crime version of a porn site. The name also was whispered by Tomas, Bennett and Amelia while Marcus was in the hospital, but she had never looked into it. She had been relieved to see it was relatively tame despite the comparison. 

After a few minutes looking around the site, she was going to close the tab on her screen when she typed Marcus’ name into the site’s search engine. Her stomach dropped and her face went pale when she saw the number of hits that were returned: sixty-eight. 

More than half had merely mentioned his name. The remainder he had featured prominently. She had read every word. A torrent of emotion had swept through her as she went through each story. When she was done, she felt nauseated. This was followed by the urge to hurl her tablet across the room, which she very nearly had done. 

Instead, she had grabbed one of the throw pillows on her bed, buried her face in it and screamed. Her dad, Henry, happened to be walking by her bedroom at the time and threw open the door to see what was wrong. She had told him everything was fine; just a bad reaction to something she had read. Henry had laughed when he saw she was okay. Casey had hoped she never saw Rose Cooper again because she knew she would lose it if she did. 

“So, anyway, the second I saw her it was a like a matador waving a red cape in my face. I tore out of the car and just started screaming at her like a maniac. But I didn’t care. All I could think about was Marcus and how, _somehow_ , he couldn’t see what a mistake it was for him not to toss her out.”

He nodded. “He must have had his reasons. Perhaps he thought she could be useful.”

“For what?” She stopped in front of him, blocking his path. “ _What is going on?_ Is Marcus in trouble?” There was a look she caught for a fraction of a second in Tomas’ eyes. “ _Is Marcus in danger?_ ”

Tomas said nothing. 

“Is it a demon?”

Silence.

“Ohmigod. What are you going to do about it?”

“Me?”

“ _Both of you._ ” A thought hit her. “Is this weekend about saying goodbye to us? Not just for the summer, but for good?”

“No,” Tomas responded firmly. “This is a celebration. A summer blowout before you and Harper go away. Nothing more.”

She believed him. However, losing them — losing Marcus — was not an option. “You will both survive this demon.”

He knew this was an order. This only gave him more incentive to make sure Marcus came out of this altercation alive. He took her hands in his. “I intend on it.”

   


When the foursome came together in the kitchen a short while later, they had collected themselves and allowed the dark clouds that loomed to dissipate. Now was the time for food, fellowship and fun. 

The menu Harper and Marcus came up with was agreed upon as the perfect afternoon meal. Tomas and his sous chef gathered the ingredients for chicken quesadillas with red and green peppers, and homemade guacamole. As they worked, Casey and Marcus helped out by slicing the peppers into strips. 

Tomas told of how the recipe actually was his abeula’s. She would make them as a treat when he was boy growing up in Mexico after leaving Chicago. He found he had been consulting her recipes more of late. It hit him as he talked to his rapt audience _this_ was the reason why. His abuela loved cooking for him because he was family and she loved him. Tomas felt the same about the people in that kitchen. Marcus caught his eye and Tomas blushed. _The things this man makes me feel_ , Tomas thought.

Over lunch, which they had outside since there was a table on the patio and plenty of space, Casey asked Marcus how old he was when he saw his first demon. She nearly choked on her bite of quesadilla when he said he had been twelve at the time. 

“As I held my ground and faced the demon inside the man, I knew this was my calling. I stayed in that cell giving him the rites until Father Sean let me out hours later. I impressed that man just a bit that day. That was a bloody miracle in its own right.” He took a swig from his soda can.

“I never realized you were so young,” Tomas marveled. “The amount of fortitude you had at that age is very impressive.”

“It was the only way to survive in the system. Hell, it was the only way for me to survive, period.” Marcus wasn’t looking at anyone. He was scraping his thumbnail at the can wishing it had a label he could peel off. 

“What happened to your parents?” Casey asked.

“Died.”

“I’m sorry,” Harper said.

Marcus perceived how blunt he had sounded and looked up, taking in the concerned faces of his loved ones. “I didn’t come from the best home. My dad was abusive and my mum….” He was lost in a memory. After a long moment, he snapped out of it. “She died because of him and he died because of me. That’s the long and the short of it. Church picked me up a few years later and I’ve been with it ever since.”

Casey, who was sitting on his left, took his hand in both of hers and regarded him with such love he had to look away. His eyes landed on Tomas, who sat across from him and was hearing this for the first time just like the girls. The other man nodded with a sad smile fixed on his lips. Harper, on his right, scooted her chair back and flung herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck like she did earlier. Casey got up a second later and put her arms around them both. 

Against his better judgment, Tomas found himself getting choked up observing the scene. It was quite touching. This served as a reminder he had so much to learn about Marcus. He knew Marcus felt the same about him. They had all the time in the world. He wasn’t worried.

The rest of the afternoon saw the mood lighten considerably as Harper danced with Marcus to James Ray’s “A Miracle,” a song she considered theirs as it had played when they went to the diner a couple months ago and he had sung along while they looked over the giant menus. She had made sure to add it to this playlist she and Casey had created last night. The girls had added more than a few Northern Soul tracks and even some Mexican pop songs from when they guessed Tomas had been growing up. He playfully cringed and hid his face in his left hand, elbow on the arm of the chair in which he was sitting, when a Rebelde song played. In spite of his reaction, he sang along as he knew every word. 

They swapped stories, ate store-bought chocolate chip cookies, listened to more music and laughed their asses off until it was finally time for the girls to leave. Nobody really wanted them to go, but Marcus played “good dad” and sent them upstairs to get their bags. When they came downstairs, he bestowed upon them a package of Oreos he had hidden. It was received with squeals of delight. There were hugs all around, as well as a few kisses on the cheek and on the top of the head between Marcus and the girls. He and Tomas stood on the front porch until Casey’s car no longer could be seen.

Tomas reached around and put a hand on his partner’s right shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

Marcus peered at him with a grin. “Yeah, I’m fine. I miss them already, but I’ll be okay. You seemed to have a good time.”

“I did. I was very much looking forward to today. To seeing Casey and Harper.” His hand slid down from Marcus’ shoulder to the small of his back. “To seeing you.”

“Miss me that much, huh?” The grin was still in place.

“My compassion for you is inconvenient, Marcus.” 

“And yet here we are.” He turned toward him, and let his right index and middle fingers walk up Tomas’ chest; the digits hitting each button of his shirt as they headed north.

“Here we are.”

They had moved within a couple inches of each other; their noses nearly touching.

“Rose Cooper stopped by yesterday.”

“I know.”

“Casey.”

Tomas smiled. “Yes. What did she want?”

“To tell me things I already knew. That _we_ already knew. Then she told me to fight.”

“Rose is full of surprises.”

“Apparently.”

Their lips lightly brushed.

“We should finish cleaning up,” Tomas said.

“Rose isn’t the only one full of surprises,” Marcus replied, pulling back.

“I don’t want any distractions later.”

“Best get to it then.”

They went to work washing the pans and dishes, and wiping down the patio table. The leftovers had been handled while Casey and Harper were upstairs. Once everything was clean and put away, they went upstairs. 

Upon entering the bedroom single file, Tomas pulled Marcus to him and began kissing the back of his neck. Marcus could feel Tomas’ semi-hard cock pressing against his ass, which only made himself harder. Tomas spun him around and slid his tongue between Marcus’ lips. As they kissed, their tongues repelling and attracting each other like a pair of magnets, the clothes came off. 

Hands were everywhere, caressing every inch of skin. Tomas touched the scar on Marcus’ stomach — a permanent reminder of Kat Rance. The younger man got down on his knees and dragged his tongue across the mark before kissing the length of it. Then he firmly gripped Marcus’ cock, stroking him until he was completely hard and leaking precome. At this point, Tomas moved his hands to Marcus’ ass and slowly took him into his mouth, letting his tongue stroke the underside of the cock as it inched further down his throat.

Marcus hadn’t been aware until now just how much he had desired this. He had touched himself more than once while thinking of Tomas, but that didn’t compare to the true level of thirst he had now. 

Once Marcus had come, his fingers entwined in his lover’s dark curls, he waited till Tomas had released him before walking over to the nightside table and pulling out a container of lube from the drawer. He got down on his knees next to Tomas, who extended his hand. Marcus squeezed some lube onto Tomas’ fingers. He felt Tomas insert two of them into his hole. Tomas worked the hole, both of them feeling it expand. He enjoyed prepping his lover for him. Both loved the intimacy the act brought with it. Tomas added a third finger, which made Marcus gasp, to make sure his lover was fit to take in all of him as his cock was definitely not small. 

Marcus laid on the floor on his back. Tomas then got into position. Marcus held his own hard cock as Tomas eased himself into Marcus, who arched his back as he felt Tomas enter him. Tomas went slowly at first; gradually adding speed and power with each thrust until Marcus bucked beneath him. Marcus dug his fingers into the flesh of Tomas’ thighs. His grip kept Tomas present as the feeling of being inside Marcus had nearly sent him elsewhere — it felt that good. Marcus couldn’t believe how much Tomas filled him. The heat and weight of his cock was nothing like Marcus had imagined.

Tomas leaned over Marcus, his hand on his chest and eyes locked on him. Marcus held the gaze as he rocked his pelvis toward Tomas. This moment had been hanging thick in the air between them for some time. Tomas plunged deep and roughly into Marcus, who rode him slowly at first and then with more confidence as ripples of pleasure flooded him. Tomas mouth found Marcus’, then worked its way down his throat; his tongue running along Marcus’ collarbone. Marcus kept going, his legs now wrapped now Tomas, who moaned his Marcus’ name more than once, till they both orgasmed. 

Their stomachs were sticky from where Marcus came, his cock sandwiched between them, and he could feel where Tomas had come inside him. Once they recovered enough, Tomas pulled out. They laid on the floor facing each other, an entanglement of arms and legs. Lazy kisses and cuddling followed. Eventually, they made their way to the bed, where they talked until they fell asleep. 

Tomas awoke a few hours later to a warm feeling where his cock was concerned. He smiled when it registered that Marcus was giving him a blow job. Sensations of pleasure ricocheted throughout his body. All of this was what he had imagined sex with Marcus would be like. At the same time, it was even better than he had imagined because it was real. He lifted his ass to give Marcus better access and his lover took full advantage. 

Tomas was happy the house was empty because when he came his voice filled the room. As the couple continued to indulge themselves, they enjoyed the blissed out state with which satiating their appetites rewarded them.

Without consciously acknowledging it, both knew the bubble they currently lived in was about to burst.


	24. Chapter 24

Cherry Lester’s was a dive bar a few blocks from St. Peter’s and a couple miles from the apartment where Bennett had been living on the Church’s dime. The bar had a laidback energy despite the bright red walls and aggressive approach to design the owners had embraced. 

It was fairly well populated for a Tuesday night, but the live music always did seem to bring in an audience. The stage was located at the far end of the establishment, facing the bar at the other end. Tables and chairs filled in a fair amount of the middle space with a enough room for anyone to dance who felt the desire. 

Bennett had been sitting on a stool at the bar near the main entrance for the past twenty minutes so as to see Marcus when he came in, which he finally did. The dark blonde saw his old friend immediately and made his way over, clapping Bennett on the back as he sat down next to him.

“Sorry, mate.” He spoke louder than normal to be heard over the white noise created by the other patrons. “Traffic was worse than I expected; then trying to find a parking spot once I got here….”

Bennett shook his head. He was still in his cleric’s uniform, but he had a slight buzz nonetheless. “It’s fine. If anyone asks, you’ve been in the loo for the past twenty minutes.”

The older priest narrowed his bright blue eyes and tilted his head, a smile already forming.

“It was the only way to save you a barstool. Just say it’s the chili.”

“Why?”

“It’s _always_ the chili.”

“Now I resent that,” said a middle-aged blonde woman as she slapped down a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of Marcus and a bottle of Corona Extra on top of the napkin. “I make the best damn chili in this godforsaken town. _No one_ complains about my chili.”

“Probably because they would sooner shit their pants then mention it,” Marcus said, his smile twisting into an impish grin as he took a swig of his Mexican lager. “We may be priests, Cherry, but _you_ put the fear of God in people.”

She wore look of a pride. “Damn right. How you’ve been, Marcus? It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you round these parts.”

“Too long,” said a tall, slightly older gentleman with white hair on the sides, and sporting a black newsboy cap and tinted glasses. He was standing behind Cherry, his arms coming around her so his hands could rest on the bar. They were both staring pointedly at Marcus.

“I’ve been good. Busy with work and stuff. Nothing too exciting.” He took another swig of his beer. “How about you, too? Looks like you’ve had your hands full here.” It was a desperate ploy to change the subject.

“What kind of work would you be busy with in summer, professor?”

Marcus glanced sideways at Bennett, who appeared to be quite interested in his answer.

“Yes, professor,” he prodded. “Do share with the class.”

A glare was Marcus’ response to his colleague. Luckily, Cherry stepped in before he was forced to come up with a real answer.

“He means the exorcism work, Lester,” she snapped, looking back at her husband for a second before refocusing on Marcus. “Honestly. We’ve read all the coverage.” She placed her left hand on top of her friend’s right. “I’m sorry about that girl.”

Marcus nodded.

Cherry slammed her left hand on the bar. “How about a bowl of my chili St. Indignant over there is so fond of?” She nodded toward Bennett and raised her brow. “Huh? Yeah?”

The smile had returned to his lips. “Yeah. Two bowls.” He held up two fingers. “One for me and the other for St. Indignant.” He pointed at his friend.

Bennett shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Sweetie, you’re on your third bottle,” she said. “You need something else in that stomach besides alcohol.”

“Best thing for ya,” Lester told him. “Soak all that beer right up.”

“Can’t go home to the Pope with a hangover and a weak stomach. What ever would he think?” Marcus winked at his friend and took another swig.

“Et tu, Brute?” Bennett sighed. “Fine. I’ll eat your damn chili.”

Cherry clapped her hands. “Lester!”

“Yes, ma’am!” He snapped to attention.

“Two bowls of my _damn fine_ chili for our favorite customers.”

“Right away, ma’am!” He saluted and clicked his heels together.

“Jesus! Just go!” She picked up a towel and smacked his ass with it as he left for the kitchen. “Everything’s a friggin’ production with him.”

Marcus settled in his seat and leaned on the bar. “You love it.”

Cherry smiled at both Marcus and Bennett. “You’re damn right I do. I’ll bring out refills when the chili’s ready. Music should start in a few. I’ll come check on you later.”

The men gave a staggered “Thank you, Cherry.” She winked at them before heading off to tend to the other customers.

Talk of Bennett’s impending departure for Rome was avoided for as long as possible. They chatted about Bishop Egan; St. Peter’s; past adventures; Casey and Harper; even Amelia and Rose were mentioned. The chili was devoured not long after it had arrived. Marcus had forgotten how good Cherry’s cooking was and Bennett even apologized to her when she came back around. They listened to the blues band, which was fronted by a woman with an amazing voice and an equally impressive talent for the bass guitar. Marcus referred to her as a goddess more than once. All in all, it was a very good send off. 

Marcus’ mobile vibrated in his back pocket. He pulled it out and smiled when he saw from whom he had a text message.

“Tomas?” Bennett asked.

He shook his head as he unlocked his phone and watched the video that had been attached with the message. A laugh burst out of him. He covered his mouth with his left hand. “Sorry.”

“Girlfriend?” Lester asked. He had appeared at the bar without either of the other men noticing.

“Boyfriend?” Cherry had joined them, too.

“I’m still a priest,” Marcus protested.

She snorted. “In name only. You’re just a man of faith now with a cushy gig at a Catholic college and a slightly more dangerous job kicking demon ass on the side. You are _entitled_ to a love life.”

“So which is it?” Lester asked.

“Neither.” To Bennett, he said: “It’s Harper’s first week at summer camp. She found this red-eared slider turtle while she was at the lake for an activity.” He showed off the video on his mobile like a proud father, making sure Bennett, and Cherry and Lester each watched all two minutes.

After Marcus had put away his mobile and the married bar owners had gone back into the ether, Bennett had asked how long it had been since he had introduced Marcus to them.

The older priest had to think back. It had been about ten years since he had first step foot in the bar and introduced himself to Cherry and Lester Rego. Bennett had sent him to them because of their knowledge of many topics including, but not limited to: conspiracies, the occult, demons, Catholicism, serial killers, witchcraft and paganism. 

Marcus had needed an assist when coming up with a working background on a demon that had possessed a middle school teacher. The Regos plied him with information, food and booze. They had been friends ever since. The teacher had survived as Marcus had been able to save her. Miraculously, she was still working in the same school district to this day. Only now she was an elementary school principal.

“I may regret bringing this up,” Marcus began, “but I’m fairly impressed you haven’t really mentioned him tonight.”

“It’s my last night with you for the foreseeable future. Why ruin it with a pointless argument?” Bennett replied. “If I thought for a second you had real doubt about him, I would take you with me to Rome. They would run you out of a town within three days, but at least you’d get a free trip.”

Marcus chuckled. “That _would_ be worth the flight alone.”

Bennett smiled. “It would indeed.” He looked at his watch and stood up.

“Already?” Marcus checked his mobile again and saw it was nearly eleven-thirty. “It went by far too fast.”

“It did.”

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

Marcus stood up and embraced his dear friend in a big bear hug.

Bennett welcomed the gesture. Despite everything, he was going to miss this particular pain in his ass.

When they parted, Marcus asked: “Keep in touch?”

“Of course. I’ll let you know when I arrive in Rome.”

“Good.” He was silent for a few seconds. “Thank you, Bennett. For everything.”

“I’m just sorry I couldn’t do more.”

They stood in silence once again wondering what might have been. Bennett mourned an alternate ending that had Marcus never crossing paths with Tomas. He had to admit though, he had never seen Marcus happier than he was tonight. Somehow, his friend had found a family amidst the darkness that threatened to drown him. _Good for him._ Amelia may never forgive either of them if she knew Bennett had made an uneasy peace with the situation. He had no intention of telling her.

Marcus simply couldn’t fathom the emptiness his life would have had if Bennett hadn’t introduced him to Tomas. Granted, he wouldn’t know what he had been missing, but he knew he would have known he had been missing _something._ Without that meeting in the basement office at St. Peter’s, not only would he not have Tomas in his life, but he wouldn’t have Harper either. Who knows what would have happened with Kat and Casey? _Everything is connected_ , he thought. He believed this now more than ever.

   


Bennett had insisted Marcus stay and listen to the music. Marcus was going to walk out with him, but his friend had told him one of them should pay fealty to the goddess at the mic. This comment received a huge grin and little argument. They shook hands and hugged one last time. Bennett was out the door a minute later and Marcus couldn’t help but feel a little emptier. 

This had been the most amount of time they had spent together in years. He had gotten used to seeing Bennett’s self-serious mug everyday. It was almost like having a partner. Marcus never had one when it came to his work. The lives of a Catholic priest and an exorcist were solitary. Yes, each came in contact with the public. They were servants of the Lord and humans were His children. It would be heresy to think otherwise. Privately, however, was a different story. There were friends, allies, supporters; yet family and lovers were contraband. 

Devon Bennett had been the exception for a very long time.

Marcus ordered one final beer and made a silent toast to his best and oldest friend. He stayed till the end of the show, cheering the band loudly when they they took their final bows and said goodnight. Cherry and Lester hung out with him while he finished his drink. Twenty minutes later, the bottle was empty and his tab paid. 

It was well after midnight when he walked out the door of the bar. He may have had a slight buzz, but he wasn’t impaired. The walk back to the truck would do him good; allow him to stretch his legs and clear his head. He was parked three blocks away because apparently _everyone_ was out having a good time tonight.

It hit him just before he reached the alley next to the bar. The air was different; ionized somehow. A sulfuric odor permeated his nostrils. He looked to his left. There, standing in the space between the bar and the parking lot was The Salesman.

Rose Cooper officially had given him that moniker in her most recent Bloodhound piece. She had selected it because, in her words: “He goes around like a door-to-door salesman pitching his product to unwitting families, who have no idea they already have signed a contract and what they have bought is death.” 

She was as subtle as a sledgehammer, but the website received five times the number of unique visitors as a result. After Marcus had read the story, he had wanted to take a sledgehammer to his laptop but thought better of it. He had poured himself three fingers of scotch instead and felt all the better for it.

Now the man formerly known as Emmet Lunney watched him as a wolf observes a sheep; seeing not a meek creature minding its own business, but something far more delectable: dinner. Marcus Keane had no intention of being on anyone’s menu. Not tonight. Not ever. He approached the demon purposefully; taking him by the neck and slamming his back into the brick wall of the bar.

“What do you want, demon?” Marcus growled.

“I’m not here to fight.” His eyes penetrated his foe. “Though if you don’t let me go, I may be forced to reconsider my position on that topic.”

“Give me one good reason why should.” The fire within the exorcist had been stoked by the demon’s presence. It had been a long time since he had last thrown down with a source of true evil. He didn’t know how much he had been itching for a fight till now.

“I’ll give you two. They are _so precious_. The youngest asleep in her cabin at camp, so excited for the hike she and her friends will be going on in the morning. The eldest still awake reading that horrid fake news website. Rose Cooper certainly has a hard-on for you, Father Keane. Or is it professor? It’s so hard to keep track.”

Marcus’ eyes grew wide with terror. The quickest way to pierce his armor these days was to mention Harper and Casey. They were his Achilles’ heel and he knew it. More to the point, so did The Salesman. Of course, it did. Harper was its original target until Tomas walked up and joined them at the store counter. _This isn’t where it happens,_ he reminded himself. It happened at the rental home at a later date. _Think of the girls. You need to stay alive. Don’t be stupid._ He released the demon and took a few steps back.

“Live to fight another day. Smart move. As I said, I’m not here for that.”

“Then what do you want.” The growl remained.

“To make you a deal,” it said simply. “Give me The Ripper and I’ll let you live. Exorcise my kind. Mould young impressionable minds. Spend time with your girls. A full, happy life. All yours for one low price.”

Marcus was confused. Not by the deal; that was an excellent offer. Someone who hadn’t been around demons for roughly forty years might even take it. He was not that person. No, he was bewildered by the name it had used for Tomas. It was one he had never heard before, but he knew without hesitation Tomas Ortega was this Ripper. “I don’t know that name.”

The Salesman smiled patronizingly. “It’s what we call your boyfriend. His proper title is The Chesapeake Ripper. Location, location, location.”

“Learn something new everyday.” Marcus was over this conversation. If he couldn’t kill The Salesman now, he would rather just climb into the truck and go home. “You’ve made your offer. Can I go now?”

“I take it that’s a ‘no.’”

“That’s a _‘fuck no_.’”

“So be it. I had to try.”

Marcus scoffed. “No, you didn’t. You knew I wouldn’t accept it. That’s not why you’re out here after midnight talking my bloody ear off. You wanted to take stock. See what kind of a man I was.” He closed the gap between them, invading the demon’s personal space. “Well, let me tell you: I’m decent man and a _fucking good exorcist_. If I can’t save Emmet Lunney’s soul when the time comes, then I’ll put you _both_ down. Now, unless you want a preview of what’s to come, I suggest YOU GET THE HELL OUT OF MY FACE!”

The Salesman didn’t physically react to the outburst. “I’m going to enjoy peeling off your skin and burning you from the inside out,” it replied. “Then I will do the same to your paramour. After I make him watch what I to do you, of course. Enjoy the rest of your night, Father Keane.” It started to leave, stopping after a few steps to partially turn around. “May God be with you. It’s the only way you’ll survive me.”

Marcus watched it walk down the alley. 

He was shaking. 

Not with fear. 

Anger coursed through him. 

Just as he had the night he killed Christopher Osborne, Marcus felt alive.

   


Marcus sat in the pickup truck for a long while after he parked it in the driveway of his temporary home. The walk back to the vehicle had been uneventful. He had managed to calm himself enough before getting behind the wheel. The anger hadn’t dissipated, but the shaking had. 

It had been a long time since he had felt the full brunt of the righteous fury of his youth. The heat would flare up during exorcisms, especially when dealing with a particularly indignant demon. Mostly though it had laid dormant, like an active volcano that was supposed to erupt again. It was only a matter of time.

His eyes were closed. He sought guidance from the Heavenly Father, but found none. His presence he could not feel within him. This saddened him, but he wasn’t surprised. He had felt Him fading in the weeks following Kat Rance’s exorcism. 

It hit him he had been alone for a few days. God had left the building at the same time as Christopher Osborne. “Drove you out, did I? Finally washed your hands of me?” There was a bitterness in his tone he wasn’t expecting yet he didn’t swallow it — he savored it.

Marcus got out of the truck, slamming the door behind him and stood in the middle of the front yard. The nearest neighbor was more than a mile away. It was one of the perks of the place. He appreciated the isolation. At least he could have it out with dear old Dad in private. His head was tipped back to view the heavens. A bluish-black punctuated with stars greeted him.

“What’s the matter? Aren’t I enough for You?” he bellowed. “I follow You around — very happily doing your work, I might add — for _fucking years_ and the second I do something for myself you’re gone. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Are you pissed off I didn’t tell that _thing_ that invaded _my home_ in order to _kill me_ that he was forgiven? That he was loved? You and Your thugs molded me into a gun. _The irony._ It’s fine when I’m pulling the trigger metaphorically to save another soul, but the second I pull a literal one to save _my life_ ….”

He bowed his head and shook it; his hands on his hips. A little laugh escaped. His feet moved in one direction, then another, then another. All over the yard he went. The words were trying to form in his brain. He wanted them to be precise. They had to wound Him like He had wounded him. Nothing was right. Nothing was good enough. He couldn’t focus; his mind was all over the place. Images of Bennett, Mouse, Harper, Casey and Tomas flooded into his head unbidden. Their words echoed in his ears all at once. He bent down and screamed. The torrent was too much. 

On his knees, the pain nearly unbearable, he let out into the universe — with as much anguish and sincerity as he could muster — two words: “FUCK YOU!”

The tears poured down his face. His fingers sunk past the grass and into the dirt. He was sobbing. “I’ve been nothing but a punchline to you from the day I was born,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. His volume was soft; his words resolute. “You put me in that house with that monster and the decent, drunk woman who was too weak to save herself, let alone her baby boy. You ripped her away from me using him as Your weapon of choice. Then I ended him. I bounced from shitty boys’ home to shitty boys’ home, where I was abused by others as well as by my own hand.” 

He looked up, tilting his head so again he could see the sky. “Then you gave me the gift of Father Sean. That sonofabitch was nearly as bad as my old man, but at least he unearthed a skill that would serve me the rest of my days. Marcus Keane the demon slayer. I had quite the batting average, did I not? I was your star player. Until you threw me back to the wolves and had me benched.” 

His fingers left the ground as he found his feet. Standing, he threw his arms wide open. “What was the bloody point of making me into Your weapon if You weren’t going to give me any bullets?! No, You put a _fucking muzzle_ on me and had me consoling women whose biggest concern was their dogs weren’t interested in being their friends anymore and a congregation who preferred their damn mobiles while parking their fat arses on church pews instead of listening to me prattle on about Your magnificence.

“What was Your grand plan with that? Instead of letting me help Your children who needed You and Your guidance while true evil insinuated itself into their hearts and minds — putting their souls at risk — you had me glad handing like some _fucking politician!_ ”

 He lowered his arms. “Let’s not forget Kat Rance. That poor girl was possessed _for months_ before You let me help her. She killed her wife, who was only trying to do what was best for her, and shot me and gutted me before eventually topping herself. Then You finally give me a purpose with Andy Kim. I was … I was _so damn close_ with him. But no. No, _Tomas_ had to call the demon inside Andy, and warn him Bennett and I were on our way to exorcise its sorry arse _because he wanted to see what would happen._

“There was a time I believed You had turned over a new leaf and were the God the New Testament described.” He shook his head. “Not anymore. Despite all the _shit_ we’ve been through — and we’ve been through a lot of it — I loved You like no other. And I honestly believe You felt the same about me. I could _feel_ You coursing through me and I thought _this_ … this is true love. I didn’t know any different. You saw to that.

“I have Bennett. I have — had — Mouse. They kept me going for the longest time. Still do. But then I met Tomas and reconnected with Casey and Harper. I _finally_ have a family of my own. I’m _unbelievably_ happy for the first time in my _wretched_ life. And up pops The Salesman threatening to rip it all away again. Full fucking circle.”

Marcus lowered his head and ran both hands over his face. He suddenly felt very tired. A sigh escaped him. “I don’t even know what my bloody point was except that You are a very cruel, Old Testament master, who wouldn’t know what true love was if it bit Him in the arse. I’m not talking romantic, ‘love you/love you, too’ bollocks. I’m talking pure, unadulterated, ‘in it as far as it goes’ _love._  

“It’s what I have. It’s what You can’t take away from me no matter how hard You may try because I’m going to _fight_ You until my dying breath. Because yes, I am mad as hell at You now, but I will _always_ love You, You ungrateful bastard.”

A low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.

“Oh fuck off. I’m going to bed.”

Marcus went into the house and passed out a few minutes later on top of the bed in his room fully clothed. He didn’t awaken until three that afternoon.

   


Amelia had debated whether or not to go through with it. She had weighed the pros and cons, hoping to stack the deck in her favor. Was she really though? If she was being honest, going through with it was the healthiest thing for her. 

Her hands were shaking. She made them into fists and held them like that for a few seconds before slowly releasing them. It helped a little. So had the two glasses of merlot. It was just after one in the afternoon and already she was on her third glass. 

She stared at her mobile. The thought of not doing what she clearly needed to do made her queasy so she grabbed the phone and selected the contact from the list on her screen.

The call connected.

The phone on the other end rang.

And rang.

And rang.

And rang.

The voicemail picked up.

She let out a sigh of relief. Then cast her eyes upwards and mouthed “Thank you” to God or whomever may be listening.

It was time to leave a message.

“Hey, Marcus. It’s Mouse. I want you to know I’m sorry about how things ended with us, but I also want you to know _I’m done_. I don’t say this lightly. I’ve given this a lot of consideration and I don’t think we’re good for each other anymore. I’m not saying you’re not a good person because you are. You’re still one of the best people I know. I’m just afraid you’re being corrupted or ... maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought. What you said in the kitchen before Kat Rance’s exorcism has stayed with me. I want you to know I heard you. I wish you nothing but the best. Whatever it is you seek, I truly you hope you find it. I love you, Marcus Keane. I always will. Goodbye.”

She ended the call. Her hands were shaking so badly the phone slipped through her fingers and landed on the bed. She wrapped her arms around herself and fell onto her left side. A loud sob exploded from her throat; the tears pouring down her cheeks, soaking the spot on the bedspread where they hit. 

The storm that raged outside with windswept rain beating against the windows rivaled the one that was happening inside her bedroom, within _her_ , as the churchmouse mourned the loss of her two decades-long friendship with a man she sincerely loved.

The irony that a man, of all things, had come between them was not lost on her. Although, as far as she was concerned, the man was never a man, but a demon who had insinuated itself into the heart and mind of the one person who could have defeated it. This was the thought that shredded what was left Amelia’s heart.

Rose found her still on the bed three hours later. Amelia felt both raw and numb at the same time. She wasn’t sure how this was possible. Rose climbed onto the bed and from behind, wrapped her arms around her girlfriend. She knew this wasn’t adequate comfort, but she wanted Amelia to know she was there. Whatever she needed, she would provide. She smoothed her hair. She rubbed her arm. She kissed the side of her neck, her temple. She never said a word. 

She thought it was a mistake to sever ties with Marcus — especially now. She had told Amelia this the night before, after she had told Rose her intention.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Amelia had said. “I can’t be the lone sentry on duty keeping the darkness at bay. Especially when the person I’m trying to protect is welcoming it with open arms.”

Rose had responded by saying her piece, which was more or less what she had told Marcus on his front steps the other day. Now it was time to hold her tongue and the woman she loved.

   


Marcus had been up for twenty minutes and had already listened to Mouse’s message six times. He had a masochistic streak that ran deep. It hurt more every time he heard it, but part of him felt he deserved the pain it inflicted. He had done it. After pushing her away for weeks, she had finally had the sense to cut him out of her life. That scene in his kitchen now haunted him.

_“Why are you being such a stubborn ass about this? The man is poison. He’s already infected you and you’re either too blind or too stupid to realize it.”_

_“Maybe I think this ‘poison’ will do what nothing else has been able to do. I hope it kills all the other toxins in my system — especially here.” He poked himself hard in the chest, where his heart was located. “Like a colonic for my soul.”_

_“He can’t be that for you, Marcus. He’ll drag you down into the muck like the rest of us and drown you in its toxicity. He’s the oil slick in the ocean that suffocates organic life.”_

_“Then he’s no better than the rest and you have nothing to worry about.”_

He sat on the side of the bed with his feet on the floor and his head in his hands. The stormy weather outside matched his mood. He had fucked up. He had had two friends in this life and he manage to cut that number in half by sheer insensitivity. 

Mouse, who wished him the best and would love him always. He had watched her grow from a smart, inquisitive girl into a smart, inquisitive, fierce woman, who loved with all heart when she chose to let you in. She had tried her damndest to keep him away from Tomas. In that arena, however, he was a lost cause. He knew she had visited Tomas after she and Bennett had seen Marcus at his house in Wolf Trap. 

Tomas had told him the morning after they had made love for the first time. Marcus had been incensed by the callous way Tomas had treated her. Tomas had admitted perhaps he could have been more sensitive, but as he saw it, he was protecting Marcus _and_ Amelia. They no longer were compatible. Best to sever ties now with the hope of reconnecting at a point in the future than to let the relationship turn toxic.

Marcus now scoffed at the irony. Each thought the other was harmful yet the common denominator was him. Maybe he was the virulent one. A contagion whom infected everyone who came into contact with him.

 For the first time, he was happy he was alone in this house that wasn’t his. No one to contaminate except for the cats. As if on cue, Winston poked his head in the door and walked over to Marcus, rubbing his lithe body against his human’s legs and giving a soft “meow” when he looked up at him.

“You still love me anyway, huh?”

“Meow.”

Marcus let out a soft chuckle. His mobile rang. It was Tomas.

“Hey.”

“Oh good, you’re alive. I was starting to worry.” He was calling from his office. A client unexpectedly had canceled at the last minute. He already was deciding what dish he could make from his soon-to-be late patient’s organs. It had been awhile since he made sweetbreads….

Marcus smiled. “Yeah, sorry about that. I only woke up about a half-hour ago.”

“Good night?”

“The bar was great.”

“What’s wrong?” Tomas’ tone went from amused to concerned in an instant.

“So much.”

“I’ll come over. Let me me rearrange my last appointments for the day.”

“No.” On this Marcus was firm. “The weather is horrid. The last thing I need is to find out you were in an accident on your way here.”

“Then tell me everything.”

“You don’t have that kind of time. Not now anyway.”

“Marcus—”

“It’s fine. I’ll survive. It’s what I do.”

“Don’t do that.”

Marcus didn’t respond. They were at an impasse. He took a different tack. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you. I do … very much. I just don’t want to take you away from your work this week any more than I already have. You’ll know everything soon enough.”

“Eres muy importante para mi,” Tomas told him. He hesitated to say what he wanted to say, but proceeded nonetheless. “Siempre quiero verte, escuchar tu voz.”

Marcus’ smile was bright enough to lift his spirits a little. “Lo mismo aquí, cariño.”

They made a phone date for that evening after dinner. This was when Marcus caught up Tomas on the past twenty hours (give or take). After they talked it out, the mood shifted. Phone sex was now on the menu and both took as much pleasure as they could from the distance that separated them physically.


	25. Chapter 25

Tomas arrived at the house two days later for the weekend. It was early evening and Marcus was waiting for him on the porch. The rain had ended late the day before, leaving the earth soft from the heavy soaking. As Tomas approached, Marcus stood up from one of two Adirondack chairs situated to the right of the front door. They smiled when they saw each other and embraced once Tomas hit the top of the steps, setting down his bag and cooler on the wood.

“Good day?” he asked Marcus, holding his face in his hands once the hug ended.

A nod. “Quiet,” he replied, his arms around Tomas’ waist.

“That _is_ good.”

“Makes me nervous. Something's coming. I can feel it. There's a change in the air. Like the other night.”

“With The Salesman.” Naturally, Tomas had kept up with his daily Bloodhound reading. He knew all about Rose Cooper’s nickname for Emmet Lunney before he had to talked to Marcus. He hadn't been pleased when he had heard Lunney had approached Marcus, but he became so when he had learned how Marcus had reacted. He liked it when Marcus welcomed his anger with open arms. Knowing The Old Gray Lion was on the prowl was very exciting.

Marcus nodded. 

“Then we should take advantage of the time we have,” Tomas said. “I've brought sweetbreads with asparagus tips, peas, haricots verts, onions, baby carrots and parsley for dinner.”

“Who pissed you off?” Marcus said with a sly grin.

“Do you really want to know?”

Marcus thought about it and recalled Tomas had called late in the afternoon a few days ago. “Last-minute cancellation?”

Tomas smiled. “You know me so well.” He kissed him.

“I'll take your bag upstairs while you get dinner ready,” Marcus said, kissing him back.

   


The meal was partially pre-made thanks to the sweetbreads, which needed to be soaked in cold water for twelve hours with the water changed regularly, so it was served sooner rather than later. Tomas also had brought a bottle of Chardonnay from Burgundy. “Cave de Lugny Les charmes, Mâcon Lugny 2014. The perfect wine for our meal.”

Marcus bowed slightly. “I defer to your taste on this subject. I have no doubt you're right.”

Dinner was held at the kitchen table. The air was humid following the inclement weather of the past two days. It was a relatively quiet affair, but the silence was comfortable. There wasn't much to say as they were caught up with each other's lives. Just being in the same space together was enough. 

As they were doing the dishes, Tomas washing and Marcus drying, the former made a pronouncement. “I'm happy you're feeling like your old self. There's a confidence in you of late that had been in hiding since I've known you. It's been good seeing it present itself.”

“The Old Gray Lion on the prowl.”

Tomas put down into the soapy water the plate he was holding. “Exactly.”

“I do feel like myself — more than I have in some time.”

“The house was a good idea then.”

“So were you.”

A blush creeped into Tomas’ cheeks.

“I don't just mean our current relationship. Our conversations back in the beginning and our friendship helped center me. You were a port in a storm. Without you, I don't know where I'd be or who I'd be. Thank you.”

“You were always going to be the man you were destined to be, cariño. I'm just thankful I could be of assistance.”

They resumed their dish duty.

“He’s watching us,” Marcus announced.

“I know. He has been for the past hour.”

“Allowing us to enjoy a last supper? How gracious,” Marcus said, his words soaked in sarcasm.

Tomas released the water from the sink so it could drain. Marcus finished drying and putting away the last of the dishes, as Tomas rinsed out the sink of any lingering suds or food particles. Instead of moving to his right to head back to the table so as to remove the cream-colored, linen/cotton-blend tablecloth and matching napkins, Tomas went the opposite way and walked behind Marcus, putting his hands on his lover’s hips.

“This will not be our last supper, I promise you.” He planted a kiss just behind Marcus’ right earlobe. His hands slid away as he left him for the table. The bottle of Chardonnay still sat off to the side. Tomas picked it up with his right hand and held it up. “We forgot something.”

Just then the bottle exploded in Tomas’ hand as did the patio doors behind him. Glass was everywhere, including in Tomas’ abdomen. A giant shard from the bottle had embedded itself in his stomach. Marcus started to go to him, but only got past the island when he was stopped by an outside force. He couldn’t move. His eyes shifted to his left. He saw a figure moving in the dark. The sun had set no more than ten minutes ago as he and Tomas had cleaned up after dinner.

The Salesman climbed up the few steps to the patio, which it crossed before stepping into the dining area of the kitchen.

“Hello, Emmet,” Tomas greeted him as he was slouched on the floor, his back against one of the table’s legs.

The demon crouched in front of its victim. “That looks painful, Dr. Ortega. You should have that looked at by a professional. Here, let me help.” Slowly, it pulled the shard out of Tomas.

He gritted his teeth as the pain was excruciating. His breathing turned into panting as he did his best not to scream in agony. Once the piece of glass was finally out of him, The Salesman showed it to him. Tomas’ eyes quickly bulged. He knew he it was only a matter of time before he bled out if medical attention wasn’t given. 

It smiled. That’s what it was counting on happening. However, it pressed Tomas’ hand on the wound. “Can’t have you dying on us just yet, Ripper. Not when your boyfriend is still alive and unscathed. Let’s see what can be done about that.”

Behind it, Marcus’ breathing had become labored. He was scared for Tomas and angry at the situation on the whole. Every muscle in his body ached for not being able to move despite his attempt to make them. He wanted nothing more than to take this sadistic demon down once and for all. 

His fight was back. 

His confidence was no longer waning. 

The Old Gray Lion was ready to roar.

The Salesman stood and turned to look at him. “What do you say, exorcist? Will you let me in?”

“Marcus. Don’t.” Tomas begged. His pallor had become pale; he was sweating as he struggled to sit up.

The exorcist looked at his seriously injured and possibly dying partner. He ached to tell him everything that was in his heart, but knew there was no time. The expression on Tomas’ face changed as he gazed at Marcus; almost as if he could understand what he was trying to say. His lips twitched and he gave a nod. 

“If you want me, come and get me,” Marcus challenged The Salesman.

“As you wish.”

A second iris, bronze in color, appeared next to the blue one in Marcus’ right eye. The demon released its hold on his body, allowing him to fall to his knees.

   


“So this is the room where it happened.”

They were in the bedroom portion of Marcus’ living room in Wolf Trap.

“This is where you slaughtered my soldier in cold blood.”

“It was self-defense.”

The Salesman laughed. “Was it now? Christ, you sound just like him. When you swallowed his come, did you know it would mold you in his image?” Bitterness had replaced the mirth in its tone.

Marcus ignored the comment. “You hire another demon to do your wetwork and now you’re bitching about the result? I’m seriously underwhelmed here. You seemed much more impressive the other night.”

“Is that why you went crying to Daddy? Because you were scared of me?”

“I went because I had some things to say to Him. Things that had been building up for years, but I hadn’t had the nerve to say until then. So thanks for that.”

The Salesman looked around the room, shaking his head. “You had so much potential. Still do. There’s a group within the Church that would love to have you as a member.”

Marcus had heard rumblings over the years of a secret organization filled with high-ranking Catholic members of the community — not only in Baltimore, but the world over. They believed in literally giving the Devil its due. Vocare pulvere, otherwise known as the Ceremony of Ash, was performed at special meetings where a demon would select its next host. There never was any proof that this group existed. However, The Salesman now was confirming it. 

“The Friars of Ascension.”

The toothy grin that appeared on its mouth exposed rotting teeth. “I guess our reputation has preceded us.”

“Why would you be interested in me? You want to peel off my skin and burn me from the inside out. Why not Bennett? Or even Tomas?”

“Oh, indeed I do,” The Salesman admitted. “However, word of your giving God a tongue lashing has made the rounds and the Friars are quite impressed. They had given up any hope of converting you. But, thanks to that little performance of yours the other night, you’ve topped their Christmas lists this year. Plus, we’re down a couple members with George Walters dead and Maria MIA.

“Regarding your other questions, Father Bennett is definitely on the wish list. He’s been upgraded to having potential, thanks to you. The Ripper, on the other hand, is essentially a demon in his own right and worse, has a will of his own. We prefer someone who is more of a team player.” 

He cackled. “I know, I know. _That is so not you!_ However, this brings me back to your potential. You could do such fine work with us, Marcus. Join us and you can be useful once more. No more teaching or grunt work, like confession or Mass. You will be out in the world making a difference — one soul at a time.”

Fuck if it hadn’t just earned that insipid moniker Rose had bestowed upon it. Marcus was legitimately swayed by his pitch. It had given voice to every doubt and misgiving he had had about his position in the Church and at the college for the past few months; hell, the past few years, if not longer. He wanted nothing more than to do good in the world.

And there it was. The one reason he could never accept the offer. He wanted to do good. This is not what he would doing if he joined the Friars of Ascension. Not in his own eyes nor in His. He was a good man and good men don’t join insidious cults in order to spread evil like a virus. It pained him they were even looking at Bennett because of him. At the same time, he absolutely loved that Tomas was too much his own person to be of any interest to them.

His answer was going to be painful. Not in what he said, but in what would come next. He braced himself for the blowback. “Thanks, but no thanks. I still have a will of my own.”

The rotting teeth revealed themselves once again. “Pride goeth before a fall, Father Keane. I knew you would never accept. I suggested going after Father Bennett, but they thought you were too good an opportunity to pass up. Jackasses. Ah, well. Guess I get to have my fun, after all. 

“Wouldn’t you agree, Ripper?”

   


Marcus spun around to see Tomas standing just inside the doorway. He looked healthy; there was no wound to be found on his abdomen. His mind was still strong, otherwise he couldn’t be here. Relief flooded his system. They just might make it out of this alive. He noted something else about his partner: rage. Tomas looked right pissed off and Marcus knew if that was the case, this was going to get ugly.

To say the Salesman wasn’t happy was an understatement. “I didn’t let you in. You can’t be here without my permission.”

“I didn’t need _your_ permission, demon,” Tomas replied, glowering.

“ _You_ let him in,” it said to Marcus, coming within arm’s reach of the exorcist. “You weak, pathetic—” There was anguished scream.

Marcus had his rosary wrapped around his left wrist, but it wasn’t just any rosary. This featured a cross the size of his hand sitting within a circle. The cross, which was in his palm, was held up at eye level and pressed into The Salesman’s forehead. “Unclean Spirit! Whoever you are, and all your companions who possess this servant of God. By the mysteries of the Incarnation, the Sufferings and Death, the Resurrection, and the Ascension of Our Lord Jesus Christ; by the sending of the Holy Spirit; and by the Coming of Our Lord into Last Judgment, I command you—”

“You command nothing,” The Salesman hissed, regaining its strength. “You have no power here. Your precious God abandoned you after your temper tantrum. This one is integrated. He’s mine!”

“Lord, Hear my prayer,” Tomas’ voice dominated as he stood next to Marcus.

“And let my cry reach you,” his partner replied, matching Tomas’ vocal power.

“May the Lord be with you.”

“And with your spirit.”

“ENOUGH!” roared the demon.

With that, all three were back in the kitchen dining area of Marcus’ rental. Marcus gasped for air as he re-entered his body. Tomas did the same, but winced at the pain that rippled through him from his still bleeding gash. He watched with relief as the second iris in Marcus’ right eye evaporated. Neither had immediately thought to find out where The Salesman had gone, but they found out soon enough. 

No sooner had he got on his feet, Marcus felt the knife blade puncture the flesh of his back between the fifth and sixth ribs on his right side. His feet left the ground as blood poured out of his mouth. His eyes lowered to see Tomas watching in silent horror, the rage radiating off him. Marcus could feel the steel sliding out from the tear in his skin. He was then thrown through the double doors of the patio where the glass previously had stood. His body slid across the wood, landing on the grass below.

The Salesman stalked after him. It was on him before Marcus could get his bearings. A kick to the ribs sent him further out by a few feet. There was a hand on the scruff of his neck as the other connected with one side of his jaw and his temple several times. The blade was back as it sliced through part of his calf before it stopped. Marcus looked back and pulled the knife out. 

Then he saw why the slice didn’t go all the way. 

Tomas had jumped onto The Salesman’s back, ripping a chunk out of its neck as he wrestled the demon away from Marcus before he was flung into the corner of the railing. The small of his back hit the sharp bit and Tomas screamed in pain. He landed in a crumpled heap on the grass. 

There he laid for a full minute before he started to move. The Salesman was on top of him, beating him in the face, the ribs and — most critically — where the shard had torn through his skin. Tomas was shaking from the pain, but he was on all fours and slowly getting to his feet. Then he gave a blood-soaked smile.

Marcus jammed the knife into The Salesman’s back in the exact same spot where the demon had got him. Blood came up through its mouth as it spilled out of the hole in its back. Tomas placed his hands on its head and broke its neck. The body of Emmet Lunney fell to the ground. It laid spread eagle on the grass; it’s eyes open, seeing nothing. As Marcus and Tomas stood over the body, the second pupil in Lunney’s right eye evaporated.

   


“You know, if we do this, you’re never getting the deposit back.”

Marcus looked at the hole where the glass double doors for the patio once stood. “Pretty sure I wasn’t getting it back anyway.”

They were once again standing over the corpse of Emmet Lunney. Four hours had passed since he had died. In that time, the two men had gone inside the house to patch themselves up as well as they could. 

Marcus really had stocked the house well. In addition to food and other more obvious essentials, he had made sure there were a bounty of medical supplies. Hydrogen peroxide, gauze, tape, a suture kit and some other choice bits were on hand. They were both woozy from the loss of blood and neither was fit to be performing medical applications on the other, but there was no way they were calling an ambulance either.

Once they were fixed up to the best of their ability, they had passed out in their chairs at the kitchen table. Marcus had awoke with a start. He was disoriented for a couple seconds until he saw Tomas asleep in front of him and it all came rushing back. 

The microwave clock read it was nearly one in the morning. He was far from feeling one hundred percent, but he felt better than he had before the painkillers had kicked into gear. There was still blood over most of him, especially his clothes. That was a problem for later. 

Tomas looked positively ghoulish, slouched in the chair next to him with dried blood stained around his mouth; not to mention the rest of him. Marcus figured he probably appeared just as heinous. 

He ran his fingers over Tomas’ hairline. The younger man stirred, blinking his eyes open. He smiled when he saw it was Marcus who had woke him. Then he nodded. There was still work to do and morning would arrive soon enough. It had hurt them both to move at first, but they found it was easier once they kept going. The couple each knew people who could properly assess their injuries once they wrapped things up at the house.

Marcus had peered out into the darkness from the patio doorway. Tomas could tell from the way the older man was positioned with one arm across his stomach and the other bent with his thumbnail pressed against his lips that he was figuring out how best to dispose of the body. He stood behind him and placed his hands on Marcus’ shoulders, massaging them in an effort to get him to relax a little.

Tomas kissed the back of his head before placing his own to the right side of Marcus’, temple to temple. “What do you want to do?”

“Burn it. Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.”

Now as they stood over Lunney’s body, all that was left to do was strike the match. Tomas had doused the corpse with lighter fluid found next to a charcoal grill in the small shed in a corner of the yard. He was standing next to Marcus, who was holding a box of matches he had remembered seeing in one of the kitchen drawers. 

Marcus pulled out a match and struck it along the side of the box. The flame sparked on the first attempt. He watched it for a moment before dropping it and the box onto the mound of flesh. Tomas pulled him back several paces after the match had been released. The body lit up the night as the flames consumed the flesh and bones.

Both men were leaning on each other. The stress perpetrated on their bodies had begun to catch up with them once again. They watched Emmet Lunney burn. The demon that had integrated with him already had been destroyed, but this ensured its fate just in case.

“This is all I ever wanted for you, Marcus. For both of us.”

The exorcist watched as the flames danced in front of him. He cast his eyes down at his blood-stained arms and hands, wiggling his fingers ever so, before returning his gaze to the dazzling display before him. 

“It’s beautiful.”

Tomas nuzzled Marcus’ neck as he snaked his arms around his waist. Marcus buried his face into Tomas’ shoulder, wrapping one arm around his left shoulder and the other under his right arm. They held the embrace as the inferno flickered higher into the sky.

   


When the authorities arrived ninety minutes later, all that remained was a charred mound that once had been a body. The fire had been put out at least twenty minutes prior. 

No one was in the house.

There were no vehicles in the driveway.

It looked as if there hadn’t been anyone living there for some time. 

Forensics found no fingerprints or fibers. 

The place had been wiped clean.

Marcus Keane, who was listed on the lease as the current tennant, had vanished without a trace.


	26. Chapter 26

 

#  **EPILOGUE**

 

 

The letters were delivered one week later. Each person received a missive that was handwritten with care, expressing everything that was never said but hopefully implied. The recipient signed for his or her envelope in order to prove the package had arrived as intended. Every word was read. Any instructions were honored. All wished the man who had written the letters was there with them instead of the ghost he had sent in his place: A specter that would haunt them for the rest of their days. 

 

 

 

#  **Casey**

 

The Federal Express guy was waiting at the front desk when Casey arrived to accept delivery and sign for the day’s packages. She had brought the mail cart with her in case there were any boxes, but in truth it was just easier to throw it all in the cart with the amount of mail that comes in every day.  

She was surprised when the guy said there was one for her personally. There was no return address on the shipping envelope. Weird. Whatever. She would worry about it later. For now, she tucked it under her arm and wheeled the cart back through the door the security guard was kind enough to hold open for her. She smiled her thanks and went about her duties at the publishing firm. 

It wasn’t till she got home that night she was able to open the package. It was late and she nearly left it till the next day, but her curiosity got the better of her. She had been having drinks with colleagues at a mixer the company had hosted. This happened once a month; a way to foster relationships and boost morale. Now it was almost ten and she had to be up at six.  

She got ready for bed first. Then she grabbed the medium-sized envelope and after she climbed into bed, tore it open. Inside were two A2-sized envelopes: one with her name written on it and another for Harper. Her heart plunged; she knew who had sent them.  

She had read on the Bloodhound website about the charred remains discovered at the rental house. Relief had filled every part of her. They had stopped the demon that had been intent on destroying them. She didn’t know what they had went through that night or where they were this second, but these letters were proof they had survived. 

Her hands shook as she opened the sealed envelope with her name on it and pulled out a three-page letter on cream stationery paper. She recognized his handwriting from her graduation card. She looked to the mirror hanging over the vanity. The card was tucked inside the frame.  

Her fingers immediately went to her neck. She had forgotten to take off her favorite necklace: a silver chain holding an open-heart pendant half-covered with clear stones. The tears already were trickling down and she had yet to read the letter. She wiped her face, took a deep breath and began. 

 

_My dearest Casey,_  

 

_I am alive and I am so sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you and Harper behind. I’m sorry for not being more honest with you both. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time together, but I truly hope I have not seen you for the last time._  

_You have been a blessing in my life. I don’t know what I did to deserve such a smart, funny, loving, beautiful person such as you, but whatever it was I am eternally grateful. You have an amazing future ahead of you. Your confidence and faith is inspiring. The world will be yours once you’re out in it properly._  

_I don’t know why you accepted me into your life without question. You could have just treated me like a random exorcist or worse, not gotten in touch at all. I was confused and, to be honest, annoyed when you contacted me about Kat. I was disillusioned not just from my previous encounter with your sister, but from a failed exorcism that happened only a few weeks prior to your visit. I’m sure you’ve read about it._  

 

Casey couldn’t help but laugh. She could hear his voice in her head and his sarcasm, coupled with that smirk, always brought at least a smile to her face. 

 

_However, by the end of our meeting (reunion?), you had me feeling lighter than I had in a very long time despite our topic of discussion. I thought that was that. We’d have a business relationship from there. But you had other ideas. You never let go of me. No matter what was thrown at us, your loyalty and love never waivered. Demons. Exorcisms. Tomas. You were Teflon: nothing stuck to you._  

 

_Except me._  

 

_My champion. My defender._  

 

_I will never be able to fully express how deep my feelings for you run. My life in the Church had prohibited me from ever having children. However, you are so much more than a daughter to me. You’re also a friend. A sister. A confidante. I was going to write how I didn’t know if there was even a word to describe our relationship — for me, at least. But I just thought of one. Well, actually two: soul mate._  

 

_Don’t freak out. Soul mates aren’t necessarily romantic._  

 

_Again, I’m lucky in that I have two soul mates and at least I get to see one of you every day._  

 

_Perhaps one day you can forgive me. If not, knowing you are somewhere in the world and thinking ill of me will be my punishment._  

 

_I adore you, Casey Elisabeth Rance._  

 

_That will_ **_never_ ** _not be true._  

 

_Yours always,_  

_Cool Uncle Marcus_  

_(with the creepy job)_  

 

Casey clutched the letter to her chest as she sobbed. Her heart ached for the man she loved. Her friend. Her family. Her soul mate. He was all of these things. She mourned for what could have been, might have been. 

He had nothing to apologize for; her forgiveness was unnecessary. However, if it was a magic spell that would bring him back than she forgave him. But it wasn’t magic, at least not the good kind. It was a curse. They had killed the bad guy only to be punished for it.  

She felt as if someone just had taken a hammer and shattered her into a million pieces. She was crying so loud, her mother, Angela, flew into her room to see what was the matter.  

Upon seeing her baby in such pain, she took her into her arms to comfort her. Henry came in a few minutes later. Seeing his surviving child in such torment emotionally crippled him. He looked to Angela, who held out a hand. Henry took his wife’s hand and joined his family on the bed, careful to move the letter and other paraphernalia to the floor so as not to get damaged.  

It was a long night for the Rances. It was a couple hours before Casey finally calmed down enough to sleep. Hot tea, hugs and soothing words eventually had the desired outcome. She called out sick the next day. A three-day weekend was just what the doctor ordered. 

Casey’s last thoughts before drifting off were of Marcus and Harper. Angela kissed the top of her daughter’s head after clearing the tears from her baby’s cheeks.  

   
 

 

#  **Bennett**

 

Bennett had been staring at the package for approximately thirty minutes in the study of his flat in Rome. It had arrived a couple hours ago. He knew what is inside the cardboard envelope. He even knew whom had sent it. After reading about the remains found on the rental property in Virginia, he knew he would be hearing from Marcus. Prophecy fulfilled.  

He gave Marcus credit for having it sent to his home and not his office in Vatican City. His friend also scored points for knowing when Bennett would arrive home to sign for it. He dragged a hand over his face with the other resting near a tumbler of scotch, which sat on the desk next to the envelope.  

He closed his eyes. Thoughts of his last night in the States at Cherry Lester’s flickered to life like those old cathode ray televisions. It was a good memory that evening. Marcus taking the piss. The two of them conversing with Cherry and Lester. That magnificent chili, which Bennett could taste even now. Harper’s video of the turtle she met at summer camp. The music.  

_Goddamn you, Marcus._ Bennett knew Marcus wouldn’t just kill someone for no reason. Rose Cooper’s story about The Salesman sprung to mind. _He was a demon, wasn’t he? Was he integrated? Or has Tomas’ influence officially corrupted you? Did you even try to exorcise him?_   

Bennett let out a long breath. _Of course you did. Forgive me. Why didn’t you tell me?_  

He thought of the last time he was at Marcus’ house in Wolf Trap. The penny dropped. _Wolf Trap. You were covering your ass with that insipid wolf attack story, but I should have pressed. Instead I was blindsided by my being recalled here. Lunney sent Osborne to kill you and when he failed, Lunney finished the job himself._  

Bennett downed the scotch in one go. “Enough.” 

He reached out, tore open the package and pulled out the A2-sized stationery envelope with his name on it. Inside was a short letter on matching cream paper. 

 

_Bennett,_  

 

_The burned corpse in the backyard was a man named Emmet Lunney. He was the serial killer Rose dubbed “The Salesman.” He had integrated with a demon awhile ago. I’m sure by now you can get the whole story from her. As you may have worked out, Lunney sent Christopher Osborne to kill me. It was his way of getting revenge on Tomas for being the ruthless operative he is. His original target was Harper, so I was fine with him trading her for me._  

 

_I’m sorry I didn’t confide in you more than I did. I handled the situation poorly. That said, I don’t know how else I could have handled it. I trusted myself more than you and I do regret that. You know me as well as I know myself. Perhaps you’re chiding yourself for not doing more, for not figuring out certain truths sooner. Don’t. That way madness lies._  

 

_The Church is corrupt, old friend. The Friars of Ascension do exist. The demon inside Lunney told me so. They wanted (want?) to recruit me and now they have their sights set on you. Stay safe. Stay aware. You would be quite the feather in their cap. Tomas’ former_ _psychiatrist Maria Walters and her late husband were members. Egan is no doubt involved, but I fear their membership goes all the way to the top._  

 

_Reach out to Mouse and Rose if you can. Mouse, in particular, should be made aware just in case. She’s a bigger asset than you realize. She knows the horrors of possession even better than me. Her parents reached out to me in the early days not just because they are good, kind people, but because their only child was in the grip of a demon. It took me nearly two months, but I finally exorcised it. It nearly killed her; but once she realized she wasn’t alone, she fought harder than anyone I had ever come across till Harper._  

 

_I’m worried for the girls. Make sure Casey knows you’re an ally and that she can trust you. She’s going to be there for Harper, but they should be aware they are not alone. I know you’ll grant me this one favor._  

 

_You have been a constant in my life for many years. I appreciate you more than you know. “May the Lord bless you and protect you. May the Lord smile on you and be gracious to you. May the Lord show you his favor and give you his peace.”_  

 

_Take care of yourself, brother._  

 

_Marcus_  

 

_PS Burn this letter after you’ve read it._  

 

The smile on Bennett’s face was small and sad. Amelia’s secret was a shock, but it did help him understand her better. He liked her even more knowing she had fought like hell for everything she had in her life. This was impressive considering how much he already respected and liked her. 

 He re-read the letter a few more times before he burned it in the stainless steel trash can next to his desk. _Had it been winter, I could have just tossed it into the fireplace. How dramatic. Marcus would have loved it._  

He wondered if he would ever seen his friend again. He would, he decided. If they could survive Marcus falling in love with a cannibal who had a penchant for moonlighting as an exorcist then they could survive a worldwide demonic war that had infected the highest echelons of the Catholic Church. 

Easy peasy. 

The small, sad smile Bennett wore grew into one wicked grin. 

_Let them come. We’ll smite them all._  

   
 

 

#  **Amelia**

 

The buzzer sounded on the intercom in her apartment just as Amelia was about to walk out the door. Odd. She wasn’t expecting anything. Once she stepped off the elevator into the lobby, she spotted a Federal Express employee waiting with one of those cardboard envelopes. Eyeing the package as she signed for it, her imagination whirled at the possibilities. In the end, she settled for what was most likely. _It’s probably just some stupid advertisement from a car dealership who wants to buy my vehicle._ She wished the delivery woman a nice day and went on her way. 

She waited till she was settled at a table inside Crawford’s coffee shop before she opened the package. A chill fell over her the second her hand touched the envelope inside. _Marcus._ The thought was instantaneous. Slowly, she pulled out the cream-colored A2-sized sleeve and saw her name written in a very familiar handwriting. Her heart seized; the action so sharp, she threw her other hand to her chest as she gasped. The feeling within her eased and her breathing resumed. 

Amelia ran a hand over her name, flattening her palms against the envelope on both sides. She desperately wanted to read the letter inside. She also wanted to throw it in the trash and never give it a second thought.  

Marcus never reached out after she had left that voicemail. She knew he had heard it. He had respected her wishes. Of course, he had. Despite the recent changes he had undergone, he was still the man she loved. For that, she was grateful. After a few deep breaths and a couple sips of her favorite drink off the secret menu, she read what he had wrote. 

 

_My little churchmouse,_  

 

_I debated writing to you after your voicemail, but this was too important. I hope you will forgive me for this, at least._  

 

_Tomas and I are gone. I write not for myself, but for Harper and Casey. I’m hoping you will watch over them. I know they have parents who love them and will protect them, but they cannot protect them from what’s coming. A war is brewing and the Church has been infiltrated. I need to know you will be there for the girls. They are going to be separated as it is with Casey going to Dartmouth in the fall._ **_Do not let her defer._ ** _I don’t want her putting her life on hold for this. You’re going to say she’s a grown-ass woman who can make her own decisions. While this is true, I don’t want either of them to get sucked into this any more than they already are. Where Casey goes, Harper will want to follow._  

 

_Please, Mouse._  

 

_Let me follow up this request with something I should have had said sooner: I’m sorry. You were doing for me exactly what I just asked you to do for the girls. The irony is not lost on_ _me. I let my pride and wounded ego get the better of me, which led me to treat you horribly. I was an ass. You deserve better and I’m happy you found it with Rose._  

 

_I’ve contacted Bennett and I’ve divulged your secret to him. I needed him to understand how important you will be to him in the future and it was the quickest way. It wasn’t my place to tell him. I know this. One more sin for the pile._  

 

She could picture that damn grin of his after reading that last sentence. 

 

_Before I go, I just want you to know that part of what you said to me in that voicemail can be applied to_ **_you_ ** _. You are one of the best people I know. I wish you nothing but the best. Whatever it is you seek, I truly you hope you find it. I love you, Amelia Katz. I always will._  

 

_Goodbye._  

 

_Marcus_  

 

_PS Burn this letter after you’ve read it._  

 

Amelia sat stock still in her seat. She could feel the dam threatening to burst any second, but she couldn’t will herself to move. So many conflicting emotions were warring within her.  

She eventually found the strength to leave the shop; her coffee a casualty as she tossed it in the bin on the way out. Thank God her car had keyless entry. She was was shaking so badly a key would have just scratched the paint around the lock and nothing else. Her purse was thrown into the passenger seat as she got in, slamming the door after her. 

She had her hands on the steering wheel, but she wasn’t fit to drive. Not with the pressure building in her chest that she knew was going to explode in five … four … three…. She screamed. Her hands slammed repeatedly into the steering wheel. Tears flowed. She aggressively shook the steering wheel, gripping it with white-knuckled fury. She weeped. Everything that had been building within her for the past few months, coupled with the contents of the letter, had erupted in a cacophony of emotion.  

Once it was all out, Amelia sat in silent contemplation for a long while.  

Eventually, she said four words sotto voce. 

“Marcus. I forgive you.” 

   
   
 

 

#  **Harper**

 

When Harper had awoken this morning, she was so excited. Casey was coming up for a visit. It had felt like weeks since she had seen her best friend and big sis (this was technically true — it had been almost two).  

She had been surprised when Casey had told her she was going to see her this weekend. The big family weekend the camp hosted wasn’t for a few more weeks yet as it was held at the midway point of the season. Casey said she had cleared it with Mrs. Graham and the camp officials.  

This was more than enough for Harper. She was just psyched she was going to spend the day with one of her favorite people. Part of her wondered if she would bring Marcus, but decided that would be too much to hope for so early in the season. 

It was mid-morning when Casey arrived. Harper was hanging out with a bunch of campers when she spotted her. She excused herself much to her friends’ collective dismay and ran over to her. They embraced. Harper felt like Casey was hugging her tighter than normal, but she figured Casey must have missed her as much she had missed Casey.  

“I thought this was a girls’ camp? Why are there boys here?” The older girl gave her young friend a mock accusatory glare. 

“ _It is_ a girls’ camp. The boys’ camp is a few miles down the road. They’ll be here on the weekends for group activities.” Harper looked like the cat that ate the canary. 

“Out with it.”  

“You see that boy? With the shades?” Harper had turned and pointed at the young man in question. 

Casey thought she knew where this was going. “Yeah. He’s cute.” 

“It’s Caleb.” 

It took a second for what Harper just said to sink in. “Wait. What?” 

The young girl giggled. “ _I know!_ I had the same reaction! It turns out he’s been living on a farm out here after his foster parents died. The Kims’ neighbors, the Holmstroms, took in Caleb, Truck and Shelby. It wasn’t immediate and it took time, but it happened. He thought I wouldn’t want to be friends after what happened. I told him he was wrong and then I told him what _I_ went through. It was intense at first, but now it’s like we were never separated. And I told him all about you and Tomas and Marcus. _Especially_ you and Marcus.” 

Harper stopped talking and looked crestfallen after seeing the expression Casey wore. “Should I not have told him?” 

“Yes! Of course, you should have told him! I’m sorry. I’m just processing everything. It’s a lot,” Casey scrambled to put her kid sister’s mind at ease. “But it’s all good!” she added with a smile. 

“What’s wrong?” Harper was twelve, not ten. She knew when someone was hiding something. 

Casey sighed. “I need to talk to you in private. Is there somewhere we can go?” 

Harper wanted to ask what about, but didn’t have the nerve. She would find out soon enough. In the deepest, darkest parts of her, she feared the worst. They walked down to the beach as no one would be around till the the bonfire that night.  

The two girls continued to walk along the shore in silence: Casey was trying to figure out when to hand over the letter that was sitting in her purse; Harper worried if the evil she had tried to warn Marcus about had come after all. Finally, Casey came to a standstill. She fished the letter out of her bag, which was slung crossbody over her chest, and handed it to Harper. 

The ginger-haired girl stared at the cream-colored envelope forlornly. Then, she looked up at the girl who wore her long blonde hair ponytail and shook her head. 

“Harper, please,” Casey begged as her voice cracked. “He’s alive. He’s safe. He wrote this. He deserves to be heard.” 

She tenderly took the envelope and walked further down the beach. Casey didn’t follow. This was their time — Harper’s and Marcus’. She would be there for whatever emotional support her friend needed once she had read the letter. Harper started crying as soon as she noticed her name written on the envelope. She removed the folded pieces of paper from their shell and opened them. 

 

_Hello Monkey,_  

 

_Your omen came true. I know it’s not what you want to hear and I swear to you I wish I didn’t have to tell you, but you deserve the truth in whatever way I can give it you. Tomas and I vanquished the demon. It had taken over a man who was heartbroken over the death of his wife, like the demon that presented itself as Grace wanted to do with you. We couldn’t separate them. Unfortunately the man died, but so did the demon._  

 

_We’re not going to be able to see each other. I wish I knew for how long, but I don’t. Yes, it’s because the man died. Not everyone believes in demons or understands how they work. As a result, Tomas and I have gone away. I miss you already. I want to tell you not to cry, but it would be unfair because I’m crying as I write this._  

 

_You are an amazing young woman, Harper. You will grow up to be even smarter, stronger and more capable than you are now. Whether or not you become the next Dian Fossey, I know you will live a full and fantastic life filled with love. The next few years may be hard. Middle school and high school can be pure hell (from what I’ve heard; never experienced them myself); but seeing as you battled a demon who was living inside you, I have every confidence you are going to kick ass and take names. Always remember:_  

 

_“You descended through those heavenly doors_  

_I was blessed to find a love such as yours_  

_It was a miracle_  

_A miracle_  

_Heaven created a miracle_  

_And sent you down for me to love.”_  

 

_I will never listen to our song again without thinking of you, Monkey._  

 

_I’m so sorry for leaving. I pray we’ll meet again. Just know I’m not alone, and that I carry you and Casey in my heart._  

 

_I adore you with every fiber of my being._  

 

_Love,_  

_Marcus_  

 

Harper was having trouble breathing. She slowly turned back to look at Casey, who already was running towards her. Her arms were wrapped around Harper before the girl realized it. She kissed the top of her head and had her focus her breathing. A few minutes later, the pressure in Harper’s chest had eased, but her heart was still broken.  

Tears were streaming down both girls’ faces. They clung to each other like ports in a storm. Eventually they sat on the sand as the sun went behind the clouds, almost as if to give them some privacy. Harper asked if she had her letter with her. Casey admitted she did, even though she knew it forwards and backwards; every word etched into her heart for all eternity.  

They exchanged letters. They had no secrets from each other. On the drive home from Marcus’ rental, Harper had told her what she and Marcus had talked about in the kitchen, and Casey revealed what she and Tomas had discussed in the backyard. They were both well aware of the dangers the life of an exorcist can bring. There was a reason exorcists were discouraged from having family and friends. It would only end in pain and heartbreak. 

“We’re going to see him again,” Harper declared after the letters had been read and returned to their proper owners. “This isn’t the end. We’ll find him — find _them_. No one breaks up this family.” 

“You’re damn right. We’re stronger together. _We are loved._ There’s no greater force on this earth.” Casey shared a smile with her kid sister before gazing out onto the water and the sky beyond. “A la próxima, amigos.” 

 

______________________________ 

 

Tomas walked along the shoreline, the beach stretching out before him and behind him for miles. It was after one in the morning; the full moon hung high, shining its light on him like a spotlight. He carried a cooler, and a piece of meat wrapped in butcher’s paper and twine. He held the meat as one would a bouquet for a sweetheart. The comparison made him smile. He supposed it was an apt description. Some lovers preferred chocolates and flowers. Not his. His was a lion and oh, how they loved their protein.  

It would have been nice to have him there for the kill, but he had begged off. It wasn’t his battle. He was right. This was between Tomas, her and the demon who had possessed her. It took longer than he had expected for the vision to arrive, but then she was a fighter. He chuckled at what finally had made her say yes: his death. It was understandable. He didn’t fault her for it. However, the idea of him dying at the hands of a demon — a demon integrated with _her_ of all people — truly tickled him. 

When Tomas had walked into her house a few hours ago, the most atrocious odor attacked his nostrils. It was so bad, for a second he thought he would regurgitate his dinner, but he was able to force down the sensation. He had entered her bedroom with a handkerchief over his nose and mouth.  

Maria Walters looked like rancid meat. Her skin was gray, pocked and sloughing off. She was festering in her bed, unable to move. It hit him that the stench was her biofluids. 

“Shall we begin?” Tomas asked, not unkindly. 

“Just kill me,” Maria croaked. 

“You don’t want to be saved? I thought you had more gumption than that.” 

“The demon you sent after me ... sucked it out along with my soul and some bone marrow. Quite the sweet tooth. It’s like I’ve been fucked … by a parasitic Oompa Loompa.” 

He laughed out loud, removing the handkerchief. “That’s the Maria I know. The same Maria who was whoring me out to the Friars of Ascension without my knowledge or consent. The same group who wanted to recruit Marcus. I understand why you warned us both off now. Jealousy was only a smart part of it. You knew if he felt for me even a fraction of what I felt for him he would be lost.” 

She felt the bed sink as she sat down beside her. In her weakened condition, she was terrified of him. Her eyes grew large as he leaned in. 

“You were right.” 

Maria’s breathing already was shallow. Now she was taking in large gulps of air; what she brought in wasn’t enough, would never be enough. 

“Shhhh. Calm yourself, Maria,” he said, soothingly. “Let’s see about getting that Oompa Loompa to unhinge its jaw, hm? Let me in. I promise I’ll bite.” 

She hesitated for only a second. 

   
 

Tomas found himself in a familiar space: Maria’s living room, where they used to hold their sessions. She was sitting in her usual seat, only it wasn’t actually Maria. He was standing next to the empty chair across from her. 

“We can’t start until you sit, Tomas. You know how this works,” the demon said. 

He sat down and crossed his legs, right slung over the left. “I love your work.” 

“The feeling is mutual. This one’s fun. She’s no Kit Kat though. That one still hurts.” There was an edge to its voice. It was gone when it spoke again. “I gotta admit I haven’t been this entertained in at least seventy years. Maybe even seventy-three. She _hates_ you. Thinks you’ve ruined her life.” It shrugged. “She’s not wrong. The worst day of her life was when she met you.” 

“Then today will be the best day.” 

It smiled. “Indeed. It won’t be yours though.” 

“Won’t it?” 

“I’m going to do what that righteous, reckless, twitchy little man couldn’t.” 

“Big words coming from one who made a deal with the Ripper. I know big words, too. Would you like to hear them?” Tomas challenged. 

“I’ve always preferred showing over telling.” She suddenly was in front of him; her face inches from his, her eyes black orbs. Just as quickly, her hand was on top of his head and his vision went white. 

   
 

He was inside Marcus’ home in Wolf Trap. There was no light except for that of the moon. The front door was open with the screen door closed. Marcus entered the living room/bedroom from the kitchen. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, walking over to Tomas.  

He never made it.  

The sound of a shotgun blast filled the whole house.  

Marcus had a two-inch hole in his chest that was filling with blood. The dark red liquid was pouring out of his mouth. He crashed to the floor, choking on the viscous fluid. Tomas ran to his side. Kneeling on the floor, he pulled Marcus onto his lap. Blood was everywhere. It was covering the floor. The legs of his trousers were soaked in it.  

He couldn’t stop the bleeding. 

He couldn’t save him. 

After everything, he was going to lose him. 

“Tomas…” Marcus whispered with his dying breath. His body was still. His eyes fixed. 

He was gone. 

An incandescent rage rose from deep within Tomas. He looked at his hands; caked in the physical component of Marcus’ life force. Raising his left hand, he stared in awe as the glow from outside illuminated the color. _Blood looks black in the moonlight._ He folded his fingers until they formed a fist. His jaw was set. He raised his eyes to the nebulous figure before him. 

The words flowed from him without being bidden. 

In Latin, he performed the rites of exorcism with a passion he hadn’t experienced since his days as an ordained exorcist. There was a force inside him that was new, unexpected. Marcus would say it was God, but Tomas knew better. He had never had that relationship with the Lord, as much as he had wished otherwise. He loved Him very much, but he also was realistic. His visions were a strong counter-argument, but the former priest would point out that He was an absentee Father who dropped off a gift one day and never bothered to check back to see what Tomas thought of it. No, this newfound strength wasn’t from a deity. 

It was from the man Tomas adored with every centimeter of his soul. 

He went on like that for quite some time, never stopping. The demon was frozen to the spot. It tried to move, but couldn’t. The longer Tomas continued with the rites, the greater the toll it was taking on the entity. It began to vibrate until it was on a frequency where he could no longer see it. However, he knew it was still there. Weaker, perhaps, but still alive. He kept going even though his throat had been long parched. He kept going because his survival instinct had kicked into gear. He kept going, knowing he had someone waiting for him on the other side. A few someones who he longed to see again as much as he longed to one day see his mother, his sister and his abuela. 

There were sparks. Blink and you missed them, but Tomas hadn’t blinked. He watched as the sparks flickered in and out, never skipping a word in the ritual. Then they caught. The demon caught fire and burned bright as the flames licked at the oxygen in the room. It wasn’t at all like when he and Marcus lit the corpse of Emmet Lunney. Or when he and Harper had dispatched Grace. 

This was like a beautifully choreographed ballet.  

This was art. 

The dance ended with an explosion of white light. 

   
 

Tomas was again sitting on Maria’s bed. He looked at her. She was still alive but barely. Her breathing was erratic; he could hear her wheeze with every intake. Her eyes left his, went to her left leg and came back. He placed a hand on the leg. There was no leg. His hand sank until it hit the mattress. 

“It’s for you,” she said in a soft, raspy voice. “A souvenir. Freezer … in the laundry room.” 

His eyes traveled over her body. 

She laughed, but it quickly turned into a hacking cough. Once she calmed down, she told him: “It’s healthy. Had me do it … before it started ... killing me. Now finish what you started.” 

Tomas nodded. It was simple enough. He took one of the pillows she was propped up with and gently adjusted what had remained so she was comfortable. Then he put one knee on the bed with his other foot on the floor, placed the pillow over her face and pressed down hard until she had stopped breathing. Maria didn’t put up much of a fight. She didn’t have the strength. She was gone two minutes later. 

He cut her open to see what could be salvaged. Her kidneys were still healthy so he nicked those and closed her back up. Before he left, he went to the industrial freezer at the back of the house and picked up her leg. She even had wrapped it. A lovely parting gift. 

Now as Tomas approached the path that would take him back to the house he shared with Marcus for at least a few more days, he noticed a lone figure on the beach. He didn’t stop to wonder who would be out at such a late hour. He walked up the path at a slightly quicker pace than before. The groceries needed to be put away, after all. 

Besides, he already knew who was out there. 

   
 

Marcus stared out into the ocean, a light breeze ruffling his white button-up shirt he had tugged on over his board shorts. The sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and only the lower-third of the buttons were done, leaving his chest exposed. He couldn’t sleep with Tomas gone; so he came out to soak up the atmosphere, and maybe see if he and God were on good terms. The waves gently lapped as his feet, but otherwise it was quiet. This was good. This was nice. _Is this what it’s like to be at peace?_   

He couldn’t explain the sudden sense of calm that had come over him a couple days ago. It came from nowhere and settled in at once. There was no complaint from him. It was a wonderful, unexpected gift he was cherishing. He had been thinking of Casey and Harper when it happened. Maybe it was the universe’s way of letting him know they were okay and thinking of him. He hoped so. He liked that explanation very much. 

“You’re up,” Tomas said, wrapping his arms around Marcus from behind. He nuzzled the back of his lover’s head, working his way down to where the neck and shoulder met. 

“Turns out, I can’t sleep when you’re gone.” Marcus reached back and scratched Tomas’ head. “Bad day at work?” 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” He would tell him everything later. Now Tomas just wanted to hold him. “I felt you with me during a particularly tense moment,” he admitted. “It’s how I survived.” 

“Didn’t realize how influential I am. I’ll have to remember that.” 

Tomas nipped at his earlobe in response. 

“How’s your psychiatrist?” 

“Officially retired,” he said. “She left behind some lovely parting gifts. We will have a couple of nice meals because of her.” 

“And Kat’s demon that you sicced on her?” 

Tomas kissed Marcus’ shoulder. “Exorcised. I clean up after myself.” 

“Good thing, too. You can be a very messy boy under the right conditions. I was rather surprised at first.” 

The buttons of Marcus’ shirt came undone one by one. “I want to do bad things with you. Will you join me?” 

Tomas was always hungry after an exorcism. These days, however, it wasn’t food he craved. Marcus gave him the sustenance he needed. Just as Tomas gave Marcus what he required. Their desire for each other only increased now they were on the run. It was finally just the two of them with no outside interference. All pretence had evaporated. They could be free to be themselves.  

_It was such an aphrodisiac._  

“Always,” Marcus replied. 

Tomas took his hand and they walked back to the house together. In the distance, Marcus could hear the strains of Patsy Cline’s “Walking After Midnight.” He found himself humming the tune as they entered through the patio door. _Great. Never gonna get that outta my head now, am I?_ He needn’t have worried. A few minutes later and there was nothing in his head. He was too busy enjoying the pleasure of having Tomas inside him. 

Not long after that and they were both home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read, liked and/or commented on this epic story. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I have more Tomarcus coming soon so stay tuned! 
> 
> To those who shared their thoughts, I appreciate it more than you know and hopefully I answered you all to your satisfaction! ❤️❤️❤️


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